


The Book of the Dead

by gin007



Series: Babylon 5 Collection [3]
Category: Babylon 5, Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drama, Gen, General, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin007/pseuds/gin007
Summary: Londo Mollari thought the hardest part was behind him.  But dying was only the beginning -- for now he must face his greatest fear: the reckoning.





	1. The Dying of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Knowledge of the Centauri Trilogy is useful but not necessary to enjoy the story. If you are not familiar with the Centauri Trilogy, there may be some "canon" facts and events you are unaware of that are cited in the story.

_For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground_  
_And tell sad stories of the death of kings._  
\- Shakespeare, _Richard II_

 [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156597844@N02/35501699420/in/dateposted-public/)

_*Cover art modified & used with permission of original image author, [kitoky](http://kitoky.tumblr.com/)_

An iron grip crushed Londo's windpipe, intent upon squeezing the life from his body. Mollari's hearts thumped harder, pushing with the strength of a body that wanted to live, even if the mind desired to let go. The Keeper burrowed in his shoulder screamed its outrage. He involuntarily gasped for air, his jaws moving back and forth wordlessly. Spasms wracked his body, and blackness rolled through his brain, blurring the image in front of him.

The demon on his shoulder would not give him peace, even now, at the end. It screamed wildly, tightening every sinew of his nerves. Shockwaves of pain reverberated through his brain. His nerves were on fire, but he could not scream. There was no air, no time. His knees began to give out. _At last, thank the Great Maker, at last._ As the Keeper's efforts increased, his own will hardened, steadfast, determined to bring this to a swift end.  

A dark cloud began to descend over him, but his hands clamped onto something in front of him, and with a sickening realization, he knew it was Narn skin under his gloved fingers. His stomach wretched with convulsions as he felt his own grip growing stronger, strangling the figure in front of him: G’Kar. G’Kar the warrior, with whom he had clashed on the universe’s stage. G’Kar the philosopher, whose words he had come to admire. G’Kar, the friend who he had trusted with his life and who, at his bidding, had granted him this one final mercy.

He could feel G’Kar’s grip weakening as the dark cloud smothered his senses – his sight was vanishing, the sounds of the struggle were fading away, and his sense of touch was diminishing. His eyes burned as the numbness began to spread, starting at his extremities and working toward his hearts. But his pain ignited twin fears, stoking the realization that G’Kar might not successfully complete his task, and, equally nauseating, G’Kar himself would be sacrificed in vain. _Great Maker, no!_   Panic and bile rose from the pit of his stomach. Mollari’s hopeless efforts to save Centauri Prime would be crushed by the Drakh and their servant buried in his shoulder – and G’Kar would pay a fatal price for _his_ frantic request to save his Homeworld. But these flashes of thoughts did no good at all, for Londo had been relegated to the position of spectator in the grim and desperate struggle for his death.

In a final moment of clarity, he grasped that the Universe would grant him no quarter – he had desperately hoped to save the future of his beautiful Centauri Prime, but he would never know of the outcome of his efforts. The creeping darkness finally settled around his hearts, their twin efforts growing fainter and fainter until they no longer had strength to try. Mollari collapsed to the palace floor, his eyes unseeing, not even feeling the body tumble next to him. And so, knowing not of the fate of his Homeworld or his friend, he was cast into the void.


	2. The Ghost & the Darkness

_Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood_  
_With solemn reverence: throw away respect,_  
_Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,_  
_For you have but mistook me all this while:_  
_I live with bread like you, feel want,_  
_Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,_  
_How can you say to me, I am a king?_

_-      Shakespeare, Richard II_

The world that had dissolved in violence began to pixelate back into focus.  Suddenly, Londo gasped as his consciousness awoke, his vision swimming.  Instinctively, he reached for his neck, clawing at the sensations that reverberated in his memory.  His chest heaved wildly as he found oxygen filling his lungs, blood racing, hearts pounding.  His body violently shook as he gulped for air. 

“Pa’tazio,” a soothing voice poured over him, pulling him from away from his violent emotions.  The ancient Centauri word stirred something in his memory.  It was a term of endearment, a title bestowed upon a cherished relative who had returned from a long journey.  In the long past, the title had been given to travelers returning from religious quests, earned upon the traveler’s safe return to his House.  The word denoted warmth and respectful affection, and it was a stark contrast to the many formal titles Mollari had been accustomed to hearing for almost two decades: “Your Majesty,” “Your Grace,” “Your Highness.”  Each of these were uttered for respect or its pretense, but none symbolized the boundless warmth contained in “Pa’tazio.”

As Mollari’s eyes snapped open, he saw a feminine figure kneeling by his side.  She touched him very gently, as if to reassure him that her touch was not meant to harm him, and unbuttoned his collar to relieve his choking sensation. Her comely face embodied serenity, and she gracefully extended a pale hand and centered it between his hearts.  Something about her reminded him of Delenn’s elegance, for she had the regal bearing of a Minbari.  Her palm hovered above his chest, and she closed her eyes softly, concentrating on the task at hand.

His ragged breath was fed by the adrenaline pumping through his body, and the fire and pain still echoed in his nerves.  But slowly, he felt a warmth blossoming in his chest which emanated from her palm.  The warmth slowed his breath and melted away his tension, pain, terror, and shock.  He lifted his head for a moment, still breathing hard, trying to shake his blurred vision away.  His eyes rested on the intent figure of the Guardian before he finally laid his head back upon the ground, letting his eyelids sag with fatigue.  The heat she provided to him was imbued with a steady sense of calm, and soon it reached the depths of his body and his mind, allowing him to drift in and out of consciousness and finally into a light sleep.

The Guardian, Cassiella, did not move until she had pacified the emotions overwhelming the Emperor, allowing him to recover in a restful sleep.  His rending had been particularly violent, and the smooth transition of such a soul was a delicate matter that required great skill and care.  She had been chosen for this task by her brethren for her experience, her character, and her compassion.  Although in life the universe might not have been kind to Londo Mollari, it had taken pity on him in this matter, for her guidance was reserved for those in desperate need and kings, and he was both.

After some time had passed, Mollari’s eyes fluttered open.  Cassiella noted that this time, his chest rose and fell slowly.  His hands did not shake, nor did his chest convulse with tremors.  However, she could feel agitation rising once again within him, but it was a different sense of distress than the emotions which had violently possessed him the first time he awoke. His bewilderment was reflected in his eyes which now surveyed his surroundings at a rapid pace.

“ _Great Maker_ , where…” his voice faltered, “where am I?”  He sensed his connection to his body was oddly, indescribably transformed.  His senses felt different, more vibrant and colorful, yet he also felt strangely detached from his body, as if he was connected to it by a much thinner thread.  But even as he pushed himself up onto an elbow, he _knew_.  He knew where he was, or more precisely _when_ it was.  _After_.  It was _after_.  He remembered every moment, every breath – and every lack of breath – that had led to this instant.  At the thought, he felt uncontrollably nauseous, and his rising sense of confusion and alarm propelled his dueling hearts to beat faster.

The Guardian returned her hand mere inches in front of his hearts, and the hearts slowed again, returning to normal.

"This is a bit silly, I don't even need them anymore," he said, trying to talk himself into believing it, his words heavily accented in a melodic Northern Centauri accent.  _How could this be?_  He still seemed to inhabit a body that looked and felt very much like his own, but everything seemed unexpectedly different.  As his agitation subsided, guided by the Guardian’s assistance, he realized for the first time that the darkness that had inhabited his mind for so long was oddly absent, even though he felt perfectly sober.  His hand darted to his shoulder, and the demon he expected to find there was gone.  He sensed its absence in his mind.  A profound sense of freedom overwhelmed him, shortening his breath into jagged gasps again.  Bittersweet emotion overcame him, and he hid his face from the Guardian with a gloved hand, his jaw trembling.  His soul had yearned for this day from the moment the Keeper had seized hold of his nerves and the Drakh had inhabited his every sober thought.  He had dared dream of this freedom only in unconscious slumber, knowing that he could receive it only in death.  He gladly would have accepted that fate long ago, had he not been keenly aware that another would have to take his place, bent into subservience under the long arm of the Drakh.  After a life riddled with depraved choices, he had borne his duty to bear the Keeper upon one shoulder and the weight of protecting Centauri Prime from the Drakh on the other as a penance for his misdeeds.  Now, he was free.  _Free._ His eyes burned, and he ungloved his hands, dropping the gloves on the ground beside him.  Mollari squeezed his eyes closed with one hand, trying to regain his composure.

“The Keeper is no longer one with you,” the Guardian spoke softly to her charge, sensing his thoughts.  “It must answer to its own destiny.”

At that, Mollari opened his eyes, staring hard at the Guardian.  He hadn’t ever thought of the Keeper as a being, only a _thing_ , a tool of the Drakh that relayed his thoughts and actions to them.  But the Guardian’s words were imbued with compassion, and he realized that she considered it a life, rather than a vile and cruel means to an end.

Seeing that he abruptly recoiled at her words, she bowed her head, “A being cannot choose its existence.  It was born into its lot, as you were born into yours.”

Mollari considered this for a moment before his thoughts returned to his last moments, frozen in the instant in which the Keeper suddenly took control of his hands.  "What of G'Kar?" he asked with sudden intensity, his hearts seizing his throat again.  His hands had been wrapped around G'Kar's throat, squeezing his air passage closed.  It had been a horror to watch his own hands clawing into his friend's throat, pulling him into eternity.

"G'Kar has his own path to walk." Cassiella softly answered, her face etched with patience.

Relief rushed his senses; hopefulness in him grew. "Then...then he is not here? In…this place?"

As she replied, quietly, he felt her sense of calm descend on him.  There was no accusation in her voice or her eyes, only compassion and finality.  "The one you call G’Kar has arrived.”

“Then…” Mollari tried to question her, but the Guardian silenced him with her palm.

“He is finding his own way, as all here must do."

Mollari’s sadness at the news of G’Kar’s death was defused by the calm Cassiella sent to him with her mind, and her quiet reassurance steadied him against the revelation.

The Guardian rose, gazing down on him.  He finally turned his attention fully on her, noting that she was but a wisp of a being, covered by the thin folds of a silken robe that seemed to reflect the light around her.  Her skin was pale, as if the light cast by her robe reflected itself on her skin, but her face was tinted with the pale pink of life.  Mollari pushed himself to his unsteady feet, noting at last that he was in a lush meadow.  A rolling fog had surrounded the meadow, obscuring everything beyond his immediate view.  But his attention was distracted by the Guardian’s last words. “What do you mean, ‘find his own way?’”

“There is a path for each soul here,” she stated candidly, “no one can force you to walk a path that is not your own.  I can guide you and assist you, but ultimately, the path you walk is your own choice.”

He gazed at her for a moment before slapping the grass from his imperial white clothes, and then he straightened to his full height, again regarding the delicate figure before him.  “And what of this?” he patted his chest.  “It feels…very real.”

Her answer reminded him of the teachings of the temples, the places that he had visited long ago, and the fabled stories of Centauri mythology.  The temples taught that each Centauri had a divine soul that joined with a host body, and both the divine and the host had a soul, one belonging to the celestial and the other to the terrestrial, the former called the “higher spirit” and the latter called the “lower spirit.”  And whereas in life he had felt only a unity, now he could discern a distinction between the two.  The link between the two had not been severed, in fact if anything, the death of the body forced the lower spirit to cling to the higher spirit for survival.  A celestial soul chose its host carefully, and if the terrestrial host was debased and immoral, the most powerful celestial souls could leave the body, killing the terrestrial soul still inside its host body, allowing the celestial soul to return to the divine, preserving the celestial soul’s virtuous nature.  But if left together over a lifetime, the souls intertwined into a permanent bond, forever changing each other, allowing the terrestrial to join the higher spirit.

Cassiella’s reply was so low that Londo was forced to lean toward her to hear it.  “Your mind cannot yet imagine your twin souls without projecting a physical manifestation of your terrestrial soul.  During your transition here, you will see that your body will respond, growing lighter, younger, stronger.  The maladies of old age will fall away.  Your hearing and eyesight will be restored.  All of these things will come to pass because the body here reflects the state of your lower spirit embodied in its physical form.”

He knew, already, that she was telling him the truth.  During the end of his reign, he had acquired a terrible and persistent pneumonic cough which he had suspected would eventually prove fatal.  His chest had burned from the cough, and he had been coughing up blood for months.  It had gotten progressively worse, but he had refused to see a doctor, despite the constant urging of Royal staff (with the exception of Prime Minister Durla and certain other conniving ministers who he suspected would be just as glad of his death), for fear that anything more than a cursory examination would result in yet another innocent person’s death when the presence of the Drakh was discovered.  It was the same reason he hadn’t had a thorough medical examination since the day he was crowned.  In addition, he had almost completely destroyed his liver by imbibing endless quantities of alcohol whenever and wherever he could to dull the senses of his Keeper, giving him a few desperate moments of peace.  His liver had protested, sending out sirens of dull pain to his brain for years, but his liver had managed to survive his abuse for as long as he needed it.  His persistent memory problems had been especially troubling, for the one organ he desperately needed to protect his people was his mind.  But even the intermittent lapses in memory had gone without treatment, for he suspected they were caused by the constant abuse his nerves and brain suffered at the hands of the Drakh, rather than old age. 

But now, as far as he could tell, all of these ailments had disappeared.  The water in his lungs and weight in his chest were gone, the constant ache from his liver had dissipated, and his thoughts had a crispness he hadn’t known for years.  “Could be the sobriety,” he muttered, under his breath.

The Guardian inclined her head toward him inquisitively.

He waved a hand at her, shaking his head, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

Seeing Mollari on his feet and feeling better, with the flowing movement of the wind, Cassiella gracefully extended a palm toward him, slowly bringing it closer to her breast, beckoning him to follow her.  She turned, her silken robe billowing around her.  She began walking toward an unknown destination, leaving him to stare after her.

Mollari narrowed his eyes, watching her figure disappearing into the distance.  Looking around, he realized he was all alone.  Although he would have given half of Centauri Prime for just one moment alone, one moment of peace without the Keeper and the Drakh, suddenly, solitude was not a feeling that he relished.  He began striding after her, quickening his strides to close the distance between them.  In a few moments, he had closed the gap.  Breathlessly, he realized that even the astral projection of his body was out of shape.  “Lady,” he fell in step beside her, “where are we going?”

The Guardian walked onward without acknowledging his question.  Mollari furrowed his brow in annoyance.  “Where are we going?” he probed again, exasperation evident in his voice.  “Why won't you tell me?"

All of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks.  The Guardian sensed this change and smartly turned back toward her charge.  A shiver wracked Mollari’s body.  “Before, when you said the Keeper would have to answer to its destiny, what did you mean?”

She looked at him and hesitated, something maudlin in her eye.  “It shall be judged, as all things are judged,” she said.

 _Judged._  At the word, his hearts jumped again, beating quicker.  She felt the ice of fear seizing his body, almost knocking her back with its intensity.

She closed her eyes, feeling his waves of terror.  She was using every tool at her disposal to counter his wild emotions, which were raw from the transition he had endured, but still the powerful emotions threatened to undermine her efforts.  _He will not survive this if he cannot quell his fear_ , she thought, trying to guide him with her mind.  A soul could endure a great deal, but without an anchor, a soul could suffer a tragedy worse than damnation – the painful slide into nothingness, excommunicated from the universe and existence.  But helping him through these stages was her job, her calling, her _duty_.  She had to prepare him for what lay ahead.  Cassiella breathed in slowly, her eyes steady as she channeled serenity, and as she breathed out, her breathe filled him with peace, quelling his hearts once again.

Even as she sent him peace, Cassiella could feel his pain reverberating in the core of her own body.  She pressed it down, but it hurt her, the feelings that were devouring him with their fire.  He was terrified of the judgment that was to come.  She stepped forward, easily slipping her hand into his to comfort him, to reassure him.  But her efforts were met with the opposite effect.

Mollari’s face suddenly went blank at the touch of her hand.  He did not shrink from the touch or react outwardly, but although his face was guarded, Cassiella could feel his well of emotions surging forth.  He had been Emperor of the Centauri Republic for almost two decades, and as a man inclined toward an excessive epicurean lifestyle, he had always delighted in overwhelming his senses with fine food, alcohol, sex, laughter, music, and art. But although his appetites had never changed, his ascension to the throne had required that they be suppressed.  As an ambassador, he had barreled into a room, commanding its attention with his _joie de vivre_. He displayed his affection with his broad gestures and showered his acquaintances with affectionate physical contact.  But he had been denied these sensory flourishes since becoming Emperor.  It was not because he couldn’t appreciate the use of his sensory faculties anymore, but because decorum and the presence of the Keeper required it.  His gloved hands cruelly robbed him of human touch before the public’s eye, and he refused to allow the Drakh to intrude into his intimate moments, so he had been robbed of both public and private touch.

This small act, of putting her naked hand in his ungloved hand had reminded him of all he had given up during the last brutal decades of his life.  The grief of all that he had lost overwhelmed him, and he could contain his pain and tears no longer.  “Forgive me,” he managed at last, pulling himself together, “an old man should not weep when a beautiful woman holds his hand.”  He turned from her, not letting go of the soft grasp of her hand.

His words overcame her, and she understood that although they were alone, although she was his Guardian and privy to his innermost feelings, he was still a Centauri emperor, the symbol of the proud Centauri people, and she patiently waited while he regained his composure.  She had accompanied many souls, indeed many kings, to their final destination, and she had marshalled genuine compassion and sympathy for each of them.  But in his reaction to this, the smallest of gestures, she had gleaned that he had been mercilessly robbed of everything precious to him.  He had spent his years as Emperor in solitary confinement, and it had left him with nothing but an empty chasm in his chest, filled only with inaudible pain and desperation.  She looked at him with pity, carefully erasing it from her eyes before he turned around again.

“Pa’tazio,” she gazed at him intently, “come, the moments are passing.  We should go.” 

Turning, her hand glided gently out of his, leaving him both speechless and desperately wishing that he could recapture the fleeting moment that had just escaped.  Watching her retreat toward an unknown destination, he closed his eyes, willing himself to follow her.  He knew perfectly well what was at the end of this path, and even the thought of it was enough to paralyze him, for it was his greatest fear.  And yet, if staying here, alone, was a choice, then it was really no choice at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassiella is based on a mythological male angel, Cassiel, who was reputed to preside over the death of kings, and he is sometimes described as the "angel of tears." 
> 
> The twin souls was my attempt to reconcile the description of the struggle of the soul in the Day of the Dead. I think about it somewhat like the experience of a Trill, where a host can influence the being that continues on, and the result is a whole being that is ultimately shaped and changed by the experience of the host.
> 
> This is the transcribed conversation from the Day of the Dead:
> 
> Londo: Oh Vir, before you go, I was doing some reading and I wondered if you had ever heard about this. Apparently, according to some of our folk tales, if the spirit of a Centauri ends up in a body that is not worthy of its presence, it can choose to separate, to cause the death of the body so that it can then move on to a worrier host.
> 
> Vir: Right, right, I remember that. Its a very big struggle. And apparently the person involved is either permanently changed by the experience or he dies. Of course, this only supposed to happen when the higher spirit is a real, real high one. I mean, we're talking major angelic here. And the person that its stuck inside is a complete monster, I mean just nasty and corrupt and disgusting. Not that I...because obviously you are...you know I really have to go. To your question, yes. I do remember that story. I heard it ever since I was a child.
> 
> Londo: Interesting. I didn't.


	3. Slain Twenty Times a Day by Thee, Memory

_Strange Power, I know not what thou art,_  
_Murderer or mistress of my heart._  
_I know I'd rather meet the blow_  
_Of my most unrelenting foe_  
_Than live---as now I live---to be_  
_Slain twenty times a day by thee, Memory._

\- Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

 

“If I do not have a body, then how can my feet hurt?” Londo felt as if they had been walking for days.  Perhaps they had; he no longer had a conception of time.  And yet, with the fog clinging to them, and the same patch of grass at his feet, they might have been walking in circles.  “I would remind you that in my last occupation, I was the only person in the palace to sit _all of the time_.”  He waited expectantly for a reaction from the Guardian, but there was none.  He was about to lodge another protest irritatedly, but suddenly Cassiella pointed to something in the distance.  “There, I think it is just there.”

“ _What_ is ‘just there?’  A doctor who can numb my aching feet?  Or better yet, a Drazi arms dealer who will put me out of my misery?”  Londo saw nothing in the distance, but the Guardian turned toward him, and before she could reply, he put up a hand, “Yes, yes, I know:  I’m already dead.”  A smile began to curl the corners of his mouth.  “But apparently misery is eternal, hmm?”

The Guardian maintained her even expression without response.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked, speaking more to himself than to her.  They continued toward their destination, still invisible to his eyes.  “Well….I can speak for both of us,” he said, distracting himself with his own banter.

Staring through the fog, Cassiella’s eyes gleamed.  _This one_.  They had warned her about _this one_ – that he might be difficult.  _No_ , she corrected her thoughts, _they had said he would be difficult_.  The moments after he had been rended were filled with violent waves of emotions, and she had thought they had been referring to the difficult task of summoning calm in the face of his vicious trauma.  But no, as his step grew more cheerful, she understood what they meant when they had described him as a “force of nature.”  He was a man who wore his every emotion on his sleeve – then covered it under an unruly Centauri cloak of honor.  His well of emotion was a like a prism that refracted his feelings into different patterns as his sentiments streamed through it.  In life, by turns, he had been passionate, obstinate, outgoing, formidable, arrogant, self-sacrificing, and mischievous.  It was anyone’s guess which part of him would emerge from this well at any given moment, especially now, but Cassiella had already glimpsed its depths.

“You know,” he tapped her sleeve, “it is so quiet here.  _You_ are so quiet.  Perhaps….perhaps I should sing us an aria from Broviniccio’s final act of La Tuscata to pass the time.” She again gazed back at him without response, but he was a Centauri trained in diplomatic guile and intrigue, and he had instinctively detected that the tranquil demeanor she presented was a facade.  Whether she reveled in the peacefulness of a quiet traveling companion or whether she was convinced that the Centauri would never tell their emperor he was out of tune, she was wary of his suggestion.  “Perhaps,” a playful smile spread across his face, “ _two_ arias if we have the time.”

“We have arrived,” she said abruptly, a note of relief present in her voice.  And with that, she headed toward a small cottage faintly visible through the fog.  Mollari watched her retreating figure for a moment before striking off after her.  In a few moments, he found himself in front of what appeared to be a small, restored traveler’s lodge.  It did not look to be much bigger than a handful of rooms, and it might have been centuries old, but it had clearly received much love and attention to keep it standing considering the deep grooves in its wood.

Londo stepped into the building pensively, “What is this place?”  His eyes scanned the small building quickly, and he noticed that it was filled with hand-hewn furniture, worn by the touch of a thousand hands.  Although small, the main room was filled with small trinkets of various designs and colors, each tumbling over another, stuffed into every nook and cranny the building had to offer.  Picking one up with wariness, he noticed it was a tiny scarab beetle, the symbol of Centauri honor and power.  Several of them had adorned his ambassadorial clothes on Babylon 5, and this one exactly matched the ones on his old jacket, carved from jade and embellished with gold.  His brow furrowed as he set it down and picked up another item, a little gold fan – a perfect replica of the one he had given Adira so long ago.  Returning it to its place on a wooden sill, he touched a small broach with his fingertips, a flawless duplicate of the one his mother wore every day when he was a child.  A likeness of the coutari he had won from Urza Jaddo was hanging on the wall.  He glanced at another shelf and noticed that the most prominent item was a flask exactly like the one he had once taken to G’Kar’s quarters on Babylon 5 in the hope of a wary truce. 

Looking past the shelves’ trinkets, he noticed little orbs filled with a clear watery substance interspersed throughout the room.  He picked up one of the orbs, and shaking it lightly like a snow globe, he saw the image of Mr. Morden appear, determinedly asking “What do you want?”  Mollari recoiled at the sight and immediately dropped it back into its place, unconsciously wiping the hand that had touched it on his jacket.

“They do not please you?” Cassiella had been watching his inspection of the items with interest, and she noted how he had flinched at the globe.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Londo surveyed the room with aloofness, understanding having dawned on him.  “So these are my memories, hmm?”  His eyes glanced over the room, looking for something specific.  His eyes lit up as he veered intently toward a small cabinet tucked away in the corner.  Inside the cabinet, he found a silver tray filled with bottles.  Pulling the closest bottle off the ornate tray, he stared at the label with interest.  “No,” he muttered in half-hearted reply to her question, “no, they do not please me.”  He popped the cork off and took a whiff of the orange liquid inside.  His head jolted backward at an unexpectedly unpleasant smell, and he recapped the bottle, looking through the others in the cabinet with interest.

Cassiella had never encountered a rended soul reluctant to sort through the memories compiled for it by the House of Rest.  The small memory globes had always been a boon to spirits on their journey, especially those souls still fixated on the life that just ended.  She could see, however, that Londo Mollari was not beguiled by the House’s gift of memories past.

Mollari had his back toward Cassiella as he pulled another bottle from the cabinet.  “You know, my lady, I was convinced, earlier today – if it was today --I cannot tell since there does not appear to be any nightfall here -- that I would never desire another drop of alcohol again.  I will admit that even for a Centauri, the amount I drank the last few years destroyed some of my fondness for it.” 

She watched him search through the cabinet for several moments before responding, “Something has changed your mind?”

“There is nothing finer in the universe than to share a drink with a beautiful woman,” he pulled a stout bottle of brivari from the cabinet, satisfaction evident on his face.  Popping off the cork, he inhaled deeply, letting its sweet aroma settle in his senses. Nodding with a faint smile, he drizzled the golden liquid into a fluted glass and placed it in front of her.  “A fine brivari can capture the delight of the world in a few drops.  There is nothing quite like it.”  Londo did not pour one for himself but instead returned the cap to the bottle.  He left the bottle of brivari within an arm’s length and searched through the other bottles, reading their labels with a frown before deciding on one filled with an iridescent blue liquid, the unmistakable color of Ipshian spirits.  He generously filled a small tumbler with its thick substance, mixing it with a swirl of the glass.

“You make it sound like the nectar of the gods but you not partaking of it?”

Londo threw back the blue alcohol.  “This is truly awful,” he grimaced, “but it will do.  You cannot trust a species of fish to brew refined alcohol.”  Refilling his glass he turned back toward her.  “I would not be surprised if brivari _is_ the nectar of the gods.  In my younger years I could not afford it – it was quite beyond my means except for a glass now and again.  As emperor, it is all that I drank.”

“And what of water?” Cassiella asked, bemusedly.

“Wouldn’t touch it!” Mollari flashed a lopsided smile and settled into a careworn armchair beside her, throwing his hands up expressively as he spoke.  “Brivari was my only escape from that little monster you seem to think has a soul, my little Keeper.  Being inebriated can be quite enjoyable, but being forced to be inebriated – that takes all of the joy out of it.  And, in truth, my lady, I must tell you that even the nectar of the gods would be soured by obligatory intoxication.”  He turned his tumbler in his hand “So, while I can still enjoy the warmth of a glass of spirits, the universe has stolen the joy of brivari from me.”  He looked at the brivari bottle sadly, as if he had lost an old friend.  “But you,” he quickly covered his melancholy by focusing on his Guardian, “you can enjoy it for me.”

“Perhaps one day, you will be able to enjoy it again.”                                          

“Perhaps,” Mollari smiled wistfully.  He stared into the blue Ipshian spirits in front of him.  “Perhaps…but for now, this will have to do.  A toast,” he lifted his glass, “to…you must excuse me, my lady, I appear to have failed miserably in the simple task of asking your name.”

 “My name is Cassiella, Pa’tazio, but…” the Guardian stammered nervously.  “I – I can’t.”  Half-heartedly, she slid the drink away.

Mollari’s face clouded over, unused to being denied such simple accommodations since his days as emperor began at the palace.  “Why not?”

She smiled regretfully and replied in a low voice, “I am on duty.”

“Ahhh!” Molari’s face lit up again, his diplomatic mind maneuvering for the outcome he desired.  “And I am your duty, yes?”

Cassiella nodded innocently, “Of course.”  She sat straighter in her chair, “A Guardian is bonded to her charge until he passes safely from this place.”

“Well, there you are.” Mollari covered his face with one hand.  “If I am your duty, you must drink with me.  It is the _only_ thing that shall move me from this place.”

“Pa’tazio,” she began to protest, but Mollari stood with a flourish and silenced her with a wave.  His eyes scouted the room until he found what he was looking for.  There, buried deeply in the mementos of his life tucked away on a shelf was a deck of cards, each gilded with a plate of intricately drawn gold foil.  He palmed the deck with a twinkle in his eye.

“Now, if what I have said is true, the Fates will agree with me.  You will choose a card, and then I will choose a card.  And if the Fates agree with me, my card will be higher.”

“But I…” she tried to protest.

Molari cut her off abruptly, “Come, what harm is there in gambling on an enjoyable evening with me? If I win, who will I tell?  And if _you_ win,” he thought a moment before flashing his most charming smile at her, “I shall not berate you with my protests.  I shall march all the way to my destination quiet as a clam.”

Cassiella did find the thought appealing, especially if it would keep him from singing back-to-back operatic arias for hours on end.  She also knew it would prove more of a headache to resist his commands, so she resigned herself to the Fates, who would surely intervene on her behalf.  She cut the cards, revealing a Queen of Diamonds.  It was a very lucky draw, or so she thought.

But Londo Mollari was not a man to be denied a prize when he set his mind to win it.  The cards he had selected from the shelf had not been at random – he had received them as a gift from Lord Jaddo as a token of their friendship decades before.  They were, of course, a marked deck, and he had often used them to win rewards he would not have trusted to chance.  With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out the Ace of Spades, and with a shrug, he toasted her glass, “There you are, even the Fates agree with me.”

In defeat, the Guardian took a pensive sip of the brivari, and it burned her throat going down.  Coughing, she placed it back on the table, “Why would anyone drink this?  It is awful.”

Watching her, he realized that she had more of Lennier’s wide-eyed view of the universe than he had suspected.  Londo held up a finger, “Wait, the taste will grow on you.”  The look on her face told him that she did not agree, but she honored her part of the bargain, taking another sip.  “Now, then.” Mollari settled further into the deep armchair, refilling his glass.  “So, this is it?  Beyond the rim?”

Cassiella shook her head with a smile.  “No, Pa’tazio, we are not beyond the rim.”

“Then explain to me what is beyond the rim.  Is that where we are going?”

She laughed, “Could you describe an ocean to a person who has never seen water? People think of it as a place, but it is not a place, exactly.”  She leaned in conspiratorially, as if she was revealing the secrets of the stars.  “The universe expands and collapses, as if…as if the universe itself is breathing.”  She smiled warmly.  “There is a space between each breath. Breathe in – your chest encompasses a larger space.  Breathe out – now that space is outside of your body.  It is a place in constant flux that is neither a part of you nor something entirely separate from you – that is what it is to be beyond the rim.”

Mollari stared silently at her for several moments before responding, “That makes no sense at all.”

Cassella threw up her hands, “Could you describe the colors of fire to someone who is colorblind?”

Mollari dismissed her question with a wave of his hands.  “I suppose it would help if I believed in any of this – the gods, the afterlife, all of this.”

The Guardian took his free hand.  “ _Belief is not required_ ,” she said, emphasizing each word.  “It simply _is_.  And anyway, you do believe – in the judgment.  I can feel that you believe in that.  Nothing beyond that – but that is enough. And anyway, we have not arrived beyond the rim.  It is difficult to explain, but we are in between time, a space between the moments.  Your hand has not yet hit the palace floor. You are neither alive, nor dead.”

“Then surely I could go back?”  It was the first statement he made in genuine earnest.

Cassiella had been waiting for this.  Every soul she guided asked the same question, sooner or later.  A soul always wanted to return to that which was known to it.  The uncharted, the novel, the unique was frightening to the stoutest of hearts.  “It is never as simple as ‘going back.’  If you went back now, you would find that G’Kar has already crushed your windpipe beyond repair.  You would be frozen in a body that cannot breathe.  It would be very painful, and there would be only two possibilities: either you would be stuck in a mortal body that would burn around you or decompose or you would be cast out of your body as a silent, shadowless apparition, forever wandering Centauri Prime.”

Mollari swirled his blue liquor with his free hand, the hint of a smile playing across his face.  “Perhaps that would not be so bad?  I could finally tour the nunnery near Lake Challa.”  He chuckled to himself at the thought of entering the nunnery where no man, not even an emperor, was allowed to enter.  He had always suspected the heat of Lake Challa required less clothing behind those high walls.

“Pa’tazio, you don't even like walking twenty paces behind me.  Would you enjoy eternity without anyone noticing you?  Shouting at the top of your lungs and hearing nothing but the breeze?”

Londo considered this for a moment.  It did not sound appealing.

“And anyway,” Cassiella gazed at the Emperor, “if you do not believe in this which is happening around you, what is it you believe?”

Mollari snorted and threw the rest of his liquor back, setting the empty glass gently on the table beside him and withdrawing his hands to toy with the brivari bottle on the table.  He drew in a deep breath, his eyes far away. “I think that this is only a dream.  As you say, my hand has not yet hit the floor, and it is said that one can live many lifetimes in the instant before one dies.”

He topped off her glass of brivari before she could protest and then leaned forward to refill his own tumbler.  “I have already lived many lifetimes, you know.”  Londo swirled the spirits in his glass, studying them for a moment.  “But all of them have been tainted. It is a well-known fact that the universe hates me.”

“I do not believe that is true,” Cassiella interjected, but she got no further before Mollari cut her off with a dismissive hand.

“My family has always believed that I was a fool and a disgrace.  They threatened to disown me when I married my first wife, a woman I loved but who had no station among the great Houses. My family arranged for the marriage to be annulled after I kowtowed to their demands. My career was considered a bit of a joke, being relegated to the bucket of bolts known as Babylon 5 after the first four stations exploded or disappeared.  I can tell you, in love and in my career, I died several deaths before becoming emperor.  Certainly, no one in the House of Mollari thought I would rise as high as emperor.”

Mollari stared into the distance, his jaw clenching.  “Oh yes, I became emperor, but in the end, the joke was on me.  With a free hand, I might have done a great many things for my people, things that would have _mattered_.  I aspired to return the Republic to its days of glory, but all I managed was flames and death.  My time on the throne was wasted in trivial battles with Shiv’kala.”  Mollari shook his head in disgust.  “I won a few insignificant skirmishes with him, but when I departed, he was most certainly winning the war.  And now, imagine what the people will say of me.  They will say: ‘ _Emperor Mollari II was the pawn of the Drakh Empire.  His reign was one of the darkest ages of the Republic.  He reigned over death and destruction. Worst of all, his people were conquered in silence, without even the honor of a noble battle.  And he didn’t even have the decency to commit suicide._ ’”  Mollari’s right hand clenched into a fist.  “That is what they will say. That is how I will be remembered.  And so they will have proven the leeches in my House right after all – I have been a damned fool and a disgrace.  I failed at love and diplomacy. I failed my House, and worst of all, I failed my people.  So yes, the Universe does hate me.  And I must tell you, the feeling is mutual.”

Mollari rubbed his face, fatigue finally engulfing him.  His shoulders slumped with despair.  “In truth, it feels as though I merely survived my life.  Survival does not require eloquence or achievement.  It requires the bare minimum.  Survival is the one thing I have been rather good at, up until now.”  He met Cassiella’s eyes at last.  “But I do not know how to survive _this_.  _This_ place, _this_ thing, _this_ ….judgment.”

“You will not survive it,” Cassiella answered simply.  It was not meant as a moment of callousness; it was offered as a mere statement of fact.

“I know,” Mollari said with acceptance, searching the bottom of the beverage in his hand as if it could provide answers to his despair. Lady Morella's last prophecy still rang in his ears, _At the last, you must surrender to your greatest fear, knowing that it will destroy you._   He had never shied away from death -- in fact, he'd begged Vir to kill him when his Homeworld was threatened by the Vorlons.  What he feared was what came after death: the reckoning.

He was tired, and his bones were weary, but he did not want the evening to end.  If it did, he knew he would be one step closer to his final destination.  If he could preserve this moment a little longer, bathing in the melancholy of liquid spirits, perhaps he could summon the strength for the morrow.

Sensing that Mollari was reluctant to retire, Cassiella’s face softened.  As the evening had wore on, warmness had filled her belly and loosened her tongue. Her mind was swimming.  She had barely noticed when her charge had gotten up to pour her another drink, nor had she particularly noticed that she had sipped it away.  But now, holding her head up with some effort, she directed her unsteady focus on lifting his spirits for the journey ahead.  “I am permitted to offer you three new memories tomorrow.  You may choose three individuals to whom you did not say all that you should have said in life, but only a moment is granted with each one.  The laws of the universe will not allow you to change any past events or deeds done, but many souls find that the chance to say unspoken words allows some small token of closure.”

Mollari grunted, still twisting the glass tumbler in his hand.  “And if I do not want it?”

His reluctance surprised her.  Of all things, he seemed a sentimental soul, and surely there were moments he regretted saying the wrong thing or saying nothing at all.  But he had been surprisingly disinterested in the mementos scattered about the room.  Perhaps he felt that his memories were better seen through the amber tint of a liquor glass than in the clear light of day.  Whatever it was, she was not allowed to pursue the topic of past regrets if her charge was set against it.  “As all things here, Pa’tazio, no one can force you. If you decide not to use this gift,” she choose the word carefully, “it is your choice.”

Mollari pushed himself out of his chair, lingering by the shelves.  He gestured toward them with his glass.  “Ah, choice.  Well, I have not had a strong run of luck in that department.  Sometimes you must learn to accept things as they are.”

Cassiella shifted her weight in subtle disagreement.  “It is easier to accept things as they are if you first accept that things are not exactly as they appear.”

Mollari nodded slightly although it was not a signal of agreement.  Pursing his lips, he fired back a retort at her. “All right, let us take you.  You appear to be…” he threw his drinkless hand up, “I don’t know, a shepherd of souls?  So what am I missing, hmm?  That you are a devil in disguise?”

Without hesitation, she answered, to her immediate regret.  She tried to try to recall the words, but they had already tumbled out of her mouth.  “A Xon.”

Mollari was expecting a cryptic response or the Guardian’s usual silence.  He did not expect a real answer, although any answer he could ascribe to her would hardly have surprised him.  But he had not expected this.  The Xon and the Centauri had battled, long ago, over Centauri Prime.  After millions of deaths, the victorious Centauri had eradicated their foes, and the legends of the ruthless Xon lived on only in the distant histories of the Centauri.  “A Xon?” He searched her eyes for the hint of a joke or a lie.  She steadily stared back at him without breaking his gaze.  He gestured toward her with his open hands, “The Xon are….”

“Dead.” She finished his words for him, no emotion crossing her face.

“You – you” he stuttered his confusion, “look nothing like a Xon.”  His words grew stronger as he said them, as if their utterance gave him their conviction.  “I have seen the drawings, read the accounts.  The Xon were a powerful warrior race, strong, ruthless, and…determined.” He swallowed hard, his chest feeling weak again.

“Victors write the history books, and artists feed off patronage.  I wonder how many commissions an artist would receive if drawing vanquished foes such as me,” she replied.  A hardness entered Cassiella’s eyes.  She narrowed them, and in a moment, a flood of images rushed into Mollari’s mind.  In an instant, he saw Xon artisans creating masterful works in three dimensions, Xon children playing under the trees of the Centauri homeworld, adults weaving rich melodies with strange instruments. He felt their spiritual power, their astonishing telepathic abilities.  Many of these abilities were unique to their race, such as the ability to channel and shape emotion for a subject.  Then he saw the same people, thousands upon thousands of Xon bodies: small, limp, tinted with the pallor of death.  Their rotting smell overwhelmed his senses, gagging him.  He stumbled backward.  “I didn’t know,” he murmured almost inaudibly.  “I had no idea.”

“It was your wish to return your people to the glory of the Centaurian Empire, was it not?  This is the glory of your people.” She sent to him one last image.  The image of the first emperor of the Centauri Republic giving the order to slay the last of the Xon, to wipe them from Centauri Prime forever.  At his signal, the head of the last Xon, a civilian a little older than a child, was brought to him on a pike as joyful Centauri throngs cheered.  Mollari’s mind recoiled being reminded, a little too closely, of his own participation in the bombing of the Narn Homeworld. He had watched, horrified, as mass drivers assaulted the Narn planet, killing and maiming swathes of Narn population centers.  He hadn’t supported the idea of mass drivers, but he had also done nothing to stop it.  How much agony, how much needless and savage death could one people spread?

“I’m sorry,” the words so hard for him to say on any other occasion now came easily, filled with regret and shame.  “I’m so sorry.  If I had known,” he stammered, considering her with new appreciation, while the back of his mind wondered if it wasn’t poetic justice that a Xon would lead a Centauri emperor through the afterlife to justice.

“If you had known,” Cassiella stood facing him, swaying but trying to maintain her poise, “you would have rewritten the history books?”

“Of course, I –“ but his response was cut off unexpectedly as the figure in front of him staggered.

Cassiella’s mind was reeling with the effects of the alcohol.  “I don’t feel well,” she mumbled, her head dropping and knees collapsing, and suddenly she was reeling backward.  Although her mind was swimming, she suddenly perceived the subtle scents of argan oil and musk cologne, followed by the strong hands of the Emperor catching her and lifting her delicate body into his arms.  She felt him carry her for a few moments, weightless, before he gently tucked her into the little bed in the adjoining room, the scents of his presence gradually vanishing, and she fell into a timeless sleep.

In the other room, the Emperor removed his sash and the Centauri seal that had hung around his neck and laid them next to the other mementos of his life.  He gazed at them in contemplation and thought of the emperor he might have been, had things been different.  These things around him, they were but trinkets now.  Instead of transforming the Centauri Empire from a tourist destination into a mighty civilization, his own life had become a tourist trap of momentos.  He could take none of them with him where he was going, anyway.  They would live on, only in his memory…for as long as he had memory to remember them with.

Returning to the careworn armchair, he pushed it back, throwing his feet on the table and gazing around the room, pondering the memories there.  He sipped his Ipshian spirits thoughtfully until the bottle ran dry.  Finally, his chin hit his chest; his eyelids closing in a dreamless, drunken slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Morella's prophecy: "At the last, you must surrender to your greatest fear, knowing that it will destroy you. Now if you have failed all the others, that is your final chance for redemption."
> 
> Londo Mollari: "Still, when I die, there will be a reckoning...but it will have to wait." -The Long Night


	4. The Wind is Gonna Blow

_Now if you listen closely_  
 _I'll tell you what I know_  
 _Storm clouds are gathering_  
 _The wind is gonna blow…_  
 _-_ Maya Angelou, _Alone_

The next morning, Cassiella awoke to a dizzying headache, and she tiredly pulled herself from the small bed, rubbing her eyes with weariness until she passed by the small table that she and the Emperor had gathered around the previous night.  The bottles from the night before had been cleared, but a new object sat squarely in the center of the table as if it had become a treasured centerpiece: one small, slightly opaque memory ball. 

In curiosity, Cassiella shook it, and as it cleared, she saw the figure of a young Centaurian woman appear with a delicate smile, a flowing dress, and the bewitching grace of a dancer.  The woman moved forward, poise marking her every move.  There was a backdrop of crimson light illuminating her.  “Hello, Londo, I came back,” she said sensually, with the beginning of a smile.  Cassiella quickly replaced the memory on the table where she had found it, feeling as though she had illicitly spied on Londo’s most private thoughts.  She glanced around the room, but all the other memory balls had disappeared.

Looking behind her, she thought she would see Londo watching her bemusedly from the corner, but as she glanced around the House of Rest, she realized that there was not another soul in the house.  Her heart melted with dizzying fright.  A soul could easily become lost in the fog – in fact, many had been lost, forever.  She darted outside, her eyes wild.  At first, she saw nothing, but after a moment, she heard a distinct sound coming from around one side of the House of Rest, and her fear settled, replaced with relief.  Turning the corner, Cassiella found Londo pitching memory spheres into the fog with a grin.

“Ah, my lady, watch this!” With great animation, he took a memory ball from a small rounded pile next to him and pitched it as far as he could, waiting with bated breath to hear the satisfying thump in the distance.  He nodded at her, his eyes dancing as he waited.  Finally, he raised his hands in cheerfulness.  “You see? Nothing!  My celestial body must be very strong if you cannot hear it land.  Perhaps I should have been an athlete.  On earth, they have that strange game, what is it, soccer?”

“I am afraid I do not know the Earth games, Pa’tazio.”  She glanced at the pile wondering if she should break the news to him, but she decided it would be better to let him discover the truth for himself.  “Please come inside, it is not as safe out here as you may think.”

Frowning at her words, Londo picked up one last memory ball, and heaved it away before following her inside and standing near the room’s worn armchair.  But the smile he had worn on his face outside faded away as he noticed the memory balls had mysteriously returned to their places on the shelves.  His mirth gone, he pointed at the memory balls and looked back her, “You knew?”

“It is difficult to rid oneself of unwanted memories, Pa’tazio,” she replied.

Sighing, Mollari picked up the memory ball on the table and spun it in his hand.  “Well, this is it.  My only perfect memory.  A lifetime spent for one perfect memory.  It contains no regrets.  Nothing I should have said or should not have said.  Nothing I should have done or should not have done.”  He gazed at it sadly, as if it summed up the entirety of his life.  He looked up from the ball, “She was dead too, you know.  It was the Brakiri Day of the Dead.  I will not soon forget that night,” he grinned mischievously at her, but she noticed the smile did not reach his eyes.  He turned away, nestling the ball back among the other trinkets on the shelves.  In a wistful voice, almost to himself, he said, “I suppose even the dead may make memories worth having.”

Cassiella stared at the floor, and after a moment, she heard him turn toward her. “I am sorry, Pa’tazio.”

Londo’s expression fell in genuine confusion as he stepped toward her, “For what?”

“For last night,” she could not meet his eyes.  “I am sorry for last night.  I should have said nothing of my people and my background.  I sent images to your mind that were unworthy of your final journey. It was not my place to do so.  I have broken a sacred tenet of the Guardians.  I wish that I could take it back.” Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered how she had violated his sacrosanct journey with bitter images of her past.

Seeing her tears, Mollari put his hands upon her shoulders and squeezed them gently for a moment to reassure her and then gestured toward the memory balls with one hand, “Well, as you can see, I have a lifetime of regrets, so you are in good company.  And anyway,” he pulled her chin up with a gentle finger, “You need not be sorry.”  His voice lightened, “I remember enjoying an evening with a delightful companion.  I have not enjoyed myself like that in a very, very long time.  So, do not apologize.  You are a Xon, and I am a Centauri.  It can be no worse than a Narn and a Centauri, and I have endured a Narn as a comrade for many, many years now.  As he has suffered me.”

Londo searched her eyes for a moment before continuing, his voice growing deeper with seriousness.  “As I said last night, Cassiella, _I am sorry_.  I admit that, at least for myself, it is easier to apologize for actions that are not of my own making.  You must understand that my people’s history teaches us from the moment that we are born that we rose up by defeating a terrible people called the Xon.  They live on in Centauri memory as cruel killers that would have caused our extinction had we not eradicated them merely to survive.  We were a fractured tribal society before the war with your people.  And now that war has become a myth lost to memory, it is thousands of years old.  There is such a fable on every planet.  The heroic kings: King Dmaicles, Paleronn: Ruler of the Kroze, King Arthur, Emperor Tuscano.” He held up one finger, shaking it to emphasize his point, “These fables are grounded in one kernel of truth, and they are embellished with time and political motivations.  It is the Centauri way, as with other peoples.  If what you have shown me is true, my people believe a fairytale, and they have cruelly used the name “Xon” to signify evil.  But it is no more true than any fairytale.  I can say no more than I am _sorry_ for this.  You may take some comfort in the irony that the Centauri will likely be remembered the same way in another millennia.  And myself, I will not be able to hold my anger as you have if I am present when that happens.”

He finally looked away, casting his gaze toward the door. “I know, Cassiella, where this journey ends.  I have no illusions about _how_ it will end.  You gave me a gift last night by lifting my thoughts from it, and I am thankful for each moment I do not have to think of what lies ahead.  I love my people very much, but I have learned that memory is greater in the remembering than it is in truth.  That is why I prefer it.  Because it may be molded.  But truth – that is constant.  So we Centauri cling to our fairytales that we have fashioned out of lies just to get us through this life.”  He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing and composing himself. 

Opening them at last, he added, “I am ready to do as you suggested last night.  To put right some wrongs that I did not have the courage for during my life.  I trust that I have learned enough to correct them now.”

Cassiella had followed each word with apprehension, but at his last words, her face softened, “I do not think you will regret this choice,” she managed a smile and went on to quickly explain the Universe’s rules that governed the interactions with the living under these circumstances.  She explained that the choice of moments was reserved to the Universe, and history could not be changed.  “Who do you choose?” She asked when she had finished, having already mentally prepared for his first interaction.

Londo did not hesitate.  “It must be Vir,” he replied.

Cassiella’s eyes widened in surprise.  “I had thought it would be another.”

Londo cast a sideways gaze at the Guardian, and seeing Cassiella glance at the memory ball in the middle of the table, understanding dawned on his face.  “You thought it would be Adira Tyree?”

The Guardian inclined her head.

Londo smiled at the memory.  “Yes, I would give anything for another moment with Adira, but I said to her in life everything that I would say, and I do not wish to spoil the one thing that is perfect in memory.  What more could I tell her?  That I played an unwitting role in her death?  That if it had not been for me, she would have lived into old age?” His face turned grim and melancholy as he glanced toward the memory.  “No, I would only ruin that which I treasure most.  The one thing that has been left to me.”

Cassiella took his hand and guided him toward the chair, “Please, sit, Pa’tazio, as the experience is often disorienting.  Close your eyes, and remember what I have told you.”

Mollari settled into the armchair, doing as he was instructed, and closed his eyes.  A moment later, he began to hear the hazy echoes of voices in the distance.  A voice that sounded very much like Vir’s came into focus.  “I booked the first transport early in the morning as you requested.  I can always get another seat if you change your mind…”

And then, like an overwhelming, instantaneous crash, Mollari felt the weight of gravity and reality descend upon him. His head was spinning, and nausea curdled his stomach as he entered a body that had been his own in the past but was now so unlike his own. He staggered forward with a lurch, but he felt two hands immediately secure him from tumbling to the floor.  As his vision swam into focus, he could see the brocaded brown silk of Vir’s sleeves as the younger Centauri awkwardly clasped him.

“Londo!” Vir’s face was taunt with surprise and concern.  “Are you all right?”  He cried, not taking his widened eyes off the Prime Minister.  “Is it your hearts, again?”

Mollari blinked a few times in confusion before slapping Vir’s hands away, frustration creeping into his voice.  “No, no, let me just sit down, Vir.”  But as Londo stepped forwarded, he was quietly appreciative of the steadying hands which guided him to the couch until he was safely settled.

Trying to shake off the nausea that had accompanied his return to consciousness, Londo mumbled, almost inaudibly, “ _This isn’t quite fair_.”  But Cassiella was not within ear shot, and he was on his own.

Cassiella had been quite adamant about her warning:  _You will only have a few minutes at most_. _Make the most of them, you will not get another chance._ It seemed odd for the Universe to go to all this trouble just to give him only a moment or two, but Cassiella had suggested that the enforced brevity of these visits required a clarity and a frankness often found lacking if a soul was allowed to dally too long in a body it was only borrowing.

Londo took a deep breath as he noticed he was wearing his imperial purple coat, and he turned his attention to his surroundings.  An intense pang of nostalgia struck his chest. He was back in his old quarters on Babylon 5.  They seemed darker than he remembered, but yes, everything was in its old place – the gilded scarlet panels, his official portrait ornamented with the golden frame, the household god statutes spread around the room, the pair of coutaris on the wall.  Official government papers were poking out of an attaché case on the table, a brivari decanter with a couple of tumblers was nearby, and there was a suitcase with a few assorted items thrown into it.  Mollari put a hand to his forehead in confusion, trying to place the night.  There was something ominously familiar about it.

Glancing sideways, he saw Vir still staring at him, wringing his hands with agitation.  Vir’s eyes finally darted away for a moment, coming to rest on the brivari bottle nearby.  Mollari saw a familiar recognition dawn on Vir’s face, and Vir’s concern seemed to ebb slightly.  Mollari had spent too much time with Vir not to see the flicker of reproach cross his face.  He was surely thinking “ _How could you be drinking at a time like this?_ ”

When Vir had satisfied himself that Londo wasn’t going anywhere, he moved toward the kitchen and called out, “Let me get you some hot jala, Londo, it will make you feel better.” 

 _To sober me up from the alcohol he thinks I’ve been drinking, of course._ Londo could hear the seconds ticking away.  Tick, tock, tick, tock.

“I know it’s not fair,” Vir called from across the room. “How could Sheridan say those things to you? I mean, banning you from the station if you leave, of all things. I thought this station was supposed to be a place where we worked out our differences, and…it just seems counterproductive to bar you from Babylon 5.”

 _Ah.  His final night on Babylon 5.  That evening had been so hurried, he’d hardly had a moment of peace between dealing with the Council’s anger and his Government’s impossible explanation.  He had packed in a hurry, shooing Vir out after some hurried instructions, and he’d only been able to rest his eyes for a few moments before the early morning had sent him back to Centauri Prime for the last time. That night he’d been so distraught, he hadn’t the stomach to touch a drop of alcohol, but it would be just as well to let Vir believe his sudden nausea was a result of a bottle if it would prevent unnecessary questions._ “Yes, yes, Sheridan was irate,” Londo dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand.  “Listen Vir,” Londo’s voice turned commanding, but there was a hint of desperation in it too. “I need to talk to you.”

Vir immediately detected the distressed note in Mollari’s tone, and he abandoned the jala with haste, returning to Londo’s side.  Vir’s curled hands twisted in each other nervously, and he wondered what other news this day could possibly bring.

“Sit down, Vir.  I _don’t have much time_ , and I need to tell you something.”

“I know you don’t have any time,” Vir gulped down his anxiety as he pulled the closest chair closer to Londo. “Your transport is leaving in…” he checked the time, “…just a couple hours now, and you’re barely packed.”

Londo noticed that even in his chair, Vir was physically hovering over him, nervous tension wracking his body.  _The Council had closed its meeting, outrageously prohibiting the Centauri Republic -- an Advisory Council member nonetheless -- from attending the meeting while it was considering the evidence presented on the mysterious raiders_. _The humiliation of having one’s political position jettisoned from the Council was overshadowed only by the shocking evidence presented against the Centauri government.  It was the night that everything had started to go sickeningly wrong._  As Londo shifted his weight uncomfortably on the couch, Vir jumped up and stuffed the scarlet chiffon pillows behind him.

“Vir, please stop,” he put a gentle but firm hand on Cotto’s shoulder, pushing him back into the chair. “I’m fine.  As I said, I don’t have much time, and I – I wanted to tell you,” he sighed, feeling tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow.  _Tick, tock, tick, tock._ “Vir, we are at a crossroads, you and I.”

Vir’s mind worked in overdrive, and as he anticipated all the worst possibilities that could stem from these words, hurt marred his face.  “What are you saying?” He didn’t pause for Mollari’s reply, and his words tumbled over each, thick with apprehension.  “I _want_ to go with you to Centauri Prime.  You told me I _had_ to stay here.  I would go with you in a heartbeat.” 

Vir’s features were taunt with distress.  House Cotto had never been supportive of him, and he’d been cast out to a minor position on Babylon 5.  In the last few years as Ambassador Mollari’s aide, he had been forced to grow up quickly when Londo’s repugnant political plots inevitably engulfed Vir as well.  But outside of political machinations, Londo had been one of the few Centauri to show Vir true kindness, and if Vir had not been convinced of Londo’s affection at first, any doubt had been erased with Mollari’s determined efforts to impress upon both House Cotto and the Royal Court that Vir had played an imperative role at Babylon 5.  As a result, Vir’s star had risen tremendously within the highest circles back home, but he would have traded it in an instant to erase the disturbing decisions Londo had made which had resulted in the uneasy alliance with Mr. Morden and his associates. Still, for all Londo’s faults, Vir was indebted to Londo, and Vir was defensively protective of the Ambassador-turned-Prime Minister.  And although Londo had entrusted Vir with the station’s ambassadorial duties earlier in the day, it had still stung when Londo had instructed him to stay behind on Babylon 5.

“I know, Vir, I know.  But as I told you earlier today, I need you _here_.”  Londo’s tone told Vir that he was through discussing the decision, but then it softened as he added, “And I think that our futures lie on different paths.” 

“But I’ll see you on Centauri Prime,” Vir shook his head in confusion and denial, and for the first time, he noticed that something had changed in Londo’s eyes.  They seemed older, weary, with a tempered desperation hovering around the corners.  There was something else he couldn’t quite place – something he had never seen before, almost a glitter of silver light reflecting back at him.  _Must be the brivari_ , he thought.

Londo laid a gentle hand on Vir’s elbow, as much to steady himself as to reassure Vir.   “Of course you will, Vir.  I just – I just wanted to say,” Mollari could feel his chest seizing up and the moments fleeing, “I wanted to say that once, a long time ago, you told me not to involve myself with the Shadows. You told me – I still remember it so clearly, you said, ‘There’s no turning back once you start down this road . . . And some day I’m going to remind you of this conversation and maybe then, you’ll understand.’  I have thought of that conversation so many times since that day, but you never did throw it back in my face.  At the time, I thought that I understood, but I did not.  And even though the Shadow War is now over, I feel that there are dark days ahead for us, the Alliance, and the Centauri Republic.  You saw yourself, today, that our government presented an untenable position.  They could not even explain themselves satisfactorily to me, their Prime Minister.  Of course the Council was angry.”

Londo swallowed, his mind racing to try to fit his thoughts into a tolerable explanation for the occasion.  “It was, I fear, the beginning of days of darkness for us.  And if I am right and those dark days do come to pass, I do not wish to go to my grave without having told you this.  So…forgive me if I have trouble saying it,” his voice broke with ragged emotion.

Vir’s eyes widened with alarm, and he returned Londo’s tight grasp on his elbow, seizing Londo’s embellished purple coat with his fingertips.

“In the past, when you first came to me, I saw something of myself in you – a part of me I lost long, long ago, before experience taught me to be bitter and cynical.  I was both envious and resentful that you were able to maintain your innocence in the face of such an unjust world, whereas it had robbed me of my own.  And so, I treated you badly, very badly, Vir.”

Vir opened his mouth to protest, but Londo’s words tumbled out, “You did not abandon me even though I have kept terrible associates, I was not a very good employer, and I was an even worse friend.  But I have come to understand that you have a special trait, Vir, a clarity to see that which is right and just while I have been blinded by the glory of Centauri Prime.  I don’t mind telling you, Vir, that she has been a fickle lover like so many others before her.”  He managed a half smile, thinking of his greatest love, the beautiful Centauri Prime, and the thought, he found, still filled him with the quiver and warmth of a young suitor.

Returning his focus to the man in front of him, Londo continued, “I was wrong about your involvement with saving the Narn while you were posted on Minbar.  My ambition and my ego recoiled angrily from the bruise of betrayal, but I was _wrong_.”  He finally released Vir’s sleeve, pointing a finger at Vir, an intensely earnest look upon his face, “Not about committing treason, mind you, about that I was right.  It could have gotten you killed.  But…I did not consider that perhaps the underlying treatment of the Narn by our government was…unwarranted.  I could not see that at the time.  I thought it was the way it had to be, that they had to be broken.  It has taken…” he paused, swallowing his emotion away, considering his words, and thinking of the look in Na’toth’s eyes in the dungeon on Centauri Prime, G’Kar’s unwavering loyalty to her, and G’Kar’s commanding imperative that she be freed.  “It has taken a lifetime to see these things, to realize my blindness.”

He patted Vir on the knee affectionately, a sad smile on his face.  “It is that clarity that you have, Vir, that I never had.  I ask why the world cannot return to _what was_ , but your gift, Vir, is that you see the world the way it _should be_.”  He shook his head with a sigh, his words a double-edged sword reaching toward two futures. “Even now, I am on a path that I must see through to the end.  But you, Vir, you are not shackled by the things that bound me.  Like so many of our people, I have cloaked myself in a façade of honor, and I fear now, Vir, that perhaps, it was always just an empty mask. But you,” he threw his hands up, gesturing at Vir, “you have never shielded yourself with a mask.  You wear your heart as your shield, and instead of pride and vanity, it bleeds when it is cut by injustice.  This gives you a great advantage, Vir.  It is your finest weapon.  If the long days ahead of us end in darkness, I want you to remember this:  _believe_ in yourself, Vir.  You don’t need me to tell you any of this, but you _are_ stronger than you think.  People underestimate you – _I_ underestimated you in the past.  Your family underestimated you.  But I want you to know that _I_ believe in you, Vir.  You are my hope for the future. When the night is at its darkest, I will never stop believing in you, no matter what – even if you think it will bring us to odds.  You will remember that, hmm?”

Vir gathered himself before answering.  “Yes, Londo, of course, but why are you talking like this?  You’re not,” Vir gulped, “ _planning_ something, are you?”  Thoughts of poison, political assassination, and retribution flashed wildly in his brain.

“Pah!,” Londo sat back, managing a laugh with a shake of his head.  “Of course not,” his gravity of tone and manner returning slowly, “You know that the Regent has been ill, and I shall be called upon to serve as emperor someday – and we know that you will succeed me, Vir, according to the prophecy of Lady Morella.  So,” he leaned forward again, tautness in his body, “I want to give you these words now to remember on the day _you_ become emperor because I do not know if I will have another opportunity to tell you these things.”

Vir wanted to interrupt, to silence Londo, to tell him that day wouldn’t come, that prophecy was a conjecture, but the look in Londo’s eyes stopped him.

Londo could feel a tingling sensation, pulling him back toward eternity.  “Vir,” emotion overcame him, so he put a hand on Vir’s shoulder to steady himself, and he found that he could barely squeeze the last words from his mouth, “I am so _proud_ of you.”  He swallowed, each word more difficult than the last.  “You are …” his chest welled with emotion, “you are dearer to me than a son, Vir.  I am glad for one thing, though, and that is that you are _not_ my son – haunted by my name, my deeds, my sins – everything that I have done – everything that I will _yet_ do.  But in my hearts, you will _always_ _be_ as a son to me,” his jaw clenched as he tried to swallow the strain away.  He paused, but only for a moment, knowing the seconds were ticking away.  “I want you to know that when I am dead,” he stared keenly into Vir’s horrified eyes, “don’t look back.  You must” he balled his free hand into a fist, “ _Rebuild_ our people, Vir.  Put right that which was made wrong.  Help our people find their way again, and ensure that Centauri Prime emerges from the darkness, so that her garden of beauty and power may bloom again in the future.  You have the key to craft your own vision of the future for the Centauri Republic.  Seize it, and make her future your own.  Do not tie your feet to stones, as I have.”  He steadied himself with a thick sigh, “You know, Vir, the drink has loosened my tongue, and if I have had the courage to say to say these things tonight, my courage will not last, so tomorrow, we shall not speak of it.  But you will know, when times are dark, very dark, these are the thoughts I carry in my hearts.” 

With troubled eyes, Londo gave Vir’s shoulder a pat, “Now it is very late, almost morning, and my transport will be here shortly, so I must finish packing.”

“Let me finish packing for you,” Vir moved toward the half-packed suitcase, his eyes full of tears.

Mollari stood and strode toward Vir, closing the distance with a few steps.  When he reached Vir, he put his firm hands on Vir’s shoulders, and he spun Vir toward the door to shoo him out.  “No, Vir, you need rest – tomorrow will be very busy for both of us.  You will have to deal with all of the fallout on the station from today’s news.  So….”

Although he was being propelled toward the door, Vir turned on his heel when he reached it.  “It is not goodbye, Londo,” Vir said with a firmness that he typically had trouble mustering in front of Londo.

“No, Vir, it is not goodbye,” Londo smiled, giving Vir’s shoulder a last, lingering squeeze.  But Vir trembled as he saw something maudlin and final in Londo’s eyes.  After a moment, Vir turned away, allowing the doors to Londo’s quarters to close after him.

And as the doors shut on Vir’s departing figure, the invisible hand of the universe dragged Londo’s consciousness back into the void.


	5. Hell Hath No Fury

_…The race of man is suffering_  
_And I can hear the moan,_  
_Cause nobody, But nobody_  
_Can make it out here alone._  
\- Maya Angelou, _Alone_

Mollari had sufficiently recovered from his conversation with Vir to contemplate his next journey, and he had decided, after some moments of indecision, that he had better just get the most difficult conversation over with.  Delaying it any longer would not make it any easier, and at least a tremendous weight would be lifted from his conscience when it was over.  He forced the next words out of his mouth with every ounce of his resolve and willpower.  “I would like to speak with Timov.”  He did not glance at Cassiella but instead closed his eyes in thought, his brow furrowed in concentration as he steeled himself for what was to come.

In a blink, he was in the midst of a conversation, over a screen, with Timov.  The nausea that had gripped him when he spoke with Vir washed over him, but because his body was already sitting, he managed to tolerate its grip on him without much difficulty.  The woman who appeared on the screen was older, almost frail, and she looked pale and weary.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that he was wearing the imperial white, but movement swiftly caught his attention and placed it squarely on the figure before him.  She was reaching for the monitor switch.  It had been their last conversation -- the one and only that they had after her excommunication from the palace a decade before.  And she was cutting it short, in part prompted by his inability to express any real emotion in their original conversation.

“Timov, no!”

His cry startled her, and she withdrew her hand from the switch, narrowing her eyes in rancor.  “It is _Empress_ Timov to you, Londo.”  She didn’t give two hoots for her title as Empress of the Centauri Republic, but she did care, very much, that Londo been utterly intractable after the barbarity with which he had treated her those many years ago when he had sent her packing from the palace.  He hadn’t had the courage to even _attempt_ to speak to her until now.  If even he had sent an offensive message filled with rage, it would have been kinder than the years of cruel silence that she had endured for almost a decade.  What hurt more than anything else was that she suspected that he had been behind it all – the lies of treason used to remove her from the palace at the very moment she had come to his quarters to demonstrate her love for him.  She knew – she’d already told him – that she was aware of the darkness surrounding him and that he had acted impulsively.  But it didn’t take away the sting of his actions.  And if her words stung him, he deserved them.  He deserved every prickly retort she could muster, and he deserved a great deal more for his cruelty and foolhardiness in the matter.

Letting Timov’s barb pass without response, Londo leaned forward in his chair as if he was going to spring through the screen.  His eyes were desperate, but still, he said nothing.

Noticing the change in his body language, Timov waited, fatigued from her illness and their short conversation, the only one they’d had in years.  “Was there something else you needed?”

Londo glanced back at the weary figure intently questioning him.  He wished Cassiella were there, to calm his hearts and siphon his nerves, but he was on his own, and this conversation would be much harder than the one with Vir.  His chest felt heavy, _surely from the pneumatic cough_ , he told himself.  He felt the old Keeper nestled into its position between his shoulder and his neck, its consciousness intermixed with his own.  His breathing felt forced and difficult, and his muscles tingled with dull sense of alcohol. _Ah yes, to dull the cuts of Timov’s barbs_.  He remembered that he had only been able to make the call after summoning his courage with a bottle.  He could feel the brivari dulling his senses, lulling his Keeper into a light sleep.  But the bottle had not given him the courage he had needed, and now it seemed more of an obstacle than an aid.  He thought back to his conversation with Timov before the transmission had ended.

 _“Londo…”_  
_“Yes?”_  
_“If you need me, call.”_  
_“I won’t be needing you.”_  
_“I know, that’s why I made the offer.”_   _Click_. 

She had hung up on him before he could touch the switch.  She had seen his hand coming and had beaten him to it.  This time, he promised himself, he would do better.  Swallowing hard, he managed to get out a few words he had been unable to say previously, “I _do_ need you.”

She sniffed and looked back at him.  Although she suspected it was a trick, she couldn’t help but soften for a moment.  She detected something different in his eyes, a glint of silver she had not noticed before.  She hesitated, apprehensive that showing him any vulnerability would result in injury.  But then, the memory of his subtle aroma of aftershave and cologne lingering in the air after he departed the room hit her like a freight train.  He fired up a room with his energy, and then it was as if the room could not quite forget his presence long after he had departed.  The thought recalled a flood of other memories, jogging at her heartstrings.  Pensively, she responded, “Then allow me to come home to the palace.” 

Buried deep down inside her, she had come to love the flawed man facing her, separated by a screen and light years of space.  She now lived, dying of illness, as an exile on outlying world of the Centauri Republic.  She had buried her love for him under the only shields she had – her sharp wit and quick tongue -- on the day he had sent her from the palace.  But it was still there, buried, yearning to be acknowledged.  It had burgeoned late in their marriage, only after they had taken up residence in the palace, but nonetheless, it was there.  Despite all her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to rid herself of it.

Mollari’s head was pounding. He wished he could allow her back to the palace – that the Universe would grant him this request.  But even if it could be granted, he still would not do it.  Timov may have sensed that he was shrouded in darkness – but she did not know the depths of peril she would be in if she returned to the palace.  Even if things _could_ change, this was not a request that he would grant her.  Not in this lifetime or the next. His face hardened with resolve, and even before he spoke, Timov knew he would not oblige her this request.  The realization crushed the small hope his words of longing had fostered.

“You ask the impossible, Timov.  I have set in motion certain events that cannot be changed.  And even if I could, I cannot – I _will_ not send you back into the jaws of the leati.”

“Nor to the arms of a crazed one, it seems,” she said bitterness scathing her voice as she referenced his nickname, Paso Leati.  With an exasperated facial expression and her sliver of hope for a reunion diminishing by the moment, she added, “Well, now you know I’m dying anyway, so it can’t possibly be for my protection.”

Londo sucked in a breath; she was not going to make this easy.  He could sense the fury he had unleashed and braced himself for it.  In their many years together, she had used him as a sharpening stone for her quick wit, and the challenge of their exchanges had stimulated him.  But Timov had rarely been truly angry with him.  Usually, she was exasperated.  Annoyed.  Irritated.  Frustrated.  But not angry.  Now, he sensed his actions and the years of waiting had taken their toll, and he was unprepared for the torrent that he was about to face.  And sensing that he had wronged her greatly, each of her barbed spears flayed open his hearts with a deadly aim.

Timov’s voice was cold.  “So what is it for, then?  To hide your illicit affairs?  I know all about them. You can’t imagine how many awkward conversations I’ve endured over the years caused by your little tristes.  To tell you the truth, I've been thankful for most of your little liaisons because at least they kept you busy and as you know, the secret of our marriage has always been our lack of communication - and our general lack of contact at all.  So, then, is it your predilection for gambling? You gambled away much of my family’s fortune long before you became emperor.  It can’t be your penchant for booze – I’ve always allowed you that - even if brings you home stumbling drunk.  Is it that it gives you some satisfaction that I must remain your wife, exiled from my own family, my people, and my home because you will not grant me a divorce?  We’ve hardly ever lived in the same house, and yet as soon as we do—as soon as I…” she paused, chastising herself for even caring anymore, “as soon as I show you any affection at all, you exile me.  You would have done better to have me killed for treason – it isn’t as if you _spared_ me by preventing my trial and execution.  In fact, quite the opposite.  It would have been far more compassionate to have me killed straightaway and have it over with.  You allowed these farcical allegations of treason to malign my honor and have me removed from Centauri society.  You could have just told me to leave, Londo, and I would have left without so much as a backward glance.”

Londo’s face had drawn taunt with hurt and indignation.  His stare was visceral, and his calculating mind had retreated behind a wall of umbrage.  He could easily lie to her; he could make up a story about the gossip her return would stir and its subsequent damage to the crown, but Timov had known him too long, and she would easily detect any such lie.  There was no sense in sparking further outrage through lies.  On the other hand, he could simply answer with the truth -- anyone close to him was subject to peril at the hands of the Drakh, and he had not intimately touched a woman since he was crowned because his honor would not allow him to subject a woman’s most intimate moments to the telepathic Drakh web.  He had lost his taste for gambling because every day had become a desperate gamble for his people’s lives, and the lure of cards and chips no longer held any of the old excitement.  Rather than the warm thrill of intoxication, the brivari gave him his only desperate, free moments from the demon on his shoulder.  And when Timov had finally come to his bed to express her love, it was his fear, realizing that he could neither tell her of the Drakh without risking her death nor prevent her expression of affection without losing it, that had led him to devise her untimely exit from the palace.

Rashly plotting Timov’s removal from the dangers of the palace did not mean that he did not love her.  In fact, he was aware that the esteem she had garnered from him through her often brutal honesty had turned into something else once she had joined him at the palace.  Unlike the overwhelming head-over-heels passion he had felt for Adira, his love for Timov had grown slowly and with quiet resilience, under the guise of respect.  Because time had cared for this bond, nurturing it from a pithy seed of affection and cultivating it with care, it had blossomed into love without fanfare and, perhaps, even conscious realization.  It was a stronger, more mature bond than he had known in his other love affairs, precisely because he had not pursued her as a conquest or a token of his power, and they had unwittingly fallen into mutual admiration and love.

It was on account of his honor, his duty, and most of all, his burgeoning fondness for Timov that he was forced to send her away from the nightmares of the palace.  He told himself that his refusal to grant her a divorce stemmed solely from his concern for her protection, but the real reason was far more selfish – he could not bear to divorce her because he had had never experienced a mature love, and he jealously guarded it in secret, close to his hearts.  He did not wish to part with her forever, nor cut her off as he had cut off the wolves, Mariel and Daggair, nor did the Universe give him any choice over the matter of changing events that had already been set in stone.  Furthermore, the Keeper still clung to him, placing him in the same bind he had been placed in those many years ago, subject to the same conditions and the same impossible Drakh riddle.

For all of this, he had not been ready to face her unleashed anger, primarily because he felt deep shame and guilt for sending her away those long years ago.  And instead of cutting open his heart and sharing the truth with her, he pursed his lips and allowed his eyes to harden, his expression unyielding.  In a low, rough voice, he replied, “You ask me why I will not allow you back to the palace.  I will tell you why.  Some things are worse than death, Timov, such as duty - as you, yourself, have informed me on many occasions.  I have a duty as your husband to protect you, you have a duty as my wife to obey me,” a portion of his conscience cried out for him to stop before the damage was done, but he did not heed its warning, “and as your emperor, I do not have to explain myself to you.”

Timov stared at him like a stone, trying to regain her precious energy before responding.  “Londo Mollari,” her iced eyes unexpectedly turning chillingly lifeless, “I'm not a child, and if I need protection from anyone, it seems that it is _you_ I need protection from.  Is that why you are calling, to open old wounds?  If so, you may claim unqualified success.”

A pang of guilt rocked Londo’s body, already regretting his unkind words.  The conversation was not going the way he had hoped, but then, what had ever gone right with Timov?  Deep down, he knew he had cruelly wronged her, even if it was in a misguided attempt to protect her from the Drakh.  She had told him that she knew of the darkness surrounding him, and if she was willing to risk her life, what right did he have to stop her? When Young Lady Senna had requested Timov come to the palace, she had come, knowing that it was a viper’s nest. And over time, she had proven her loyalty and courage in the midst of the scheming and conspiracies ripe at the Royal Court.  She never lacked for brutal honesty when they were together in private – which was the one quality everyone else at the Royal Court avoided with diplomatic resolve, but when they were in public, Timov was the portrait of the people’s empress: gracious, tactful, and discreet.  Indeed, she was the only one he felt he could fully trust in the snake den that was the Royal Court, and over time, he had felt her feelings change toward him from toleration to affection to love, as had his own.

His hardened gaze cracked under her withering stare.  “No, of course I’m not calling to open old wounds.  You can be emperor of the world and have nothing left but broken dreams and broken hearts.”  He struggled for the words he needed.  He wanted to tell her that he loved her, and daily, he missed her, as he had never missed another, but as before when he had struggled for words in silence, he could not bear the sting of her rejection, and he was bound into a fate already written.

At his silence, Timov shook her head, seeing that he was incapable of saying anything further.  “But you thought salt would go well in them?”

Londo patted his chair in distraction from her question, tension and anxiety filling his frame.  _Tick, tock, tick, tock._ He had no time, no time at all.  At the beginning of their conversion, he remembered that he had offered a weak apology, but it had been as well received as it had been offered, which was poorly.  He could feel his last opportunity falling to pieces, and he didn’t know how to pick them up and piece them back together again.  “Timov, _please_ ,” he whispered with a hoarse voice, casting his eyes to the floor, “I _am_ _trying_ to win your forgiveness.” His words were failing him.  He knew it couldn’t possibly appear that way to her, but it was true, he was desperately trying.  “I wish that I could be by your side in your illness, as you were by mine on the station and in the palace.”

Timov narrowed her eyes with suspicion.  A few loosely dangled words could not cure his maligned behavior or his cutting words. She unleashed her tongue.  “Frankly, that sounds dreadful.  I’m quite sure of all the people in this universe, you have no idea what letting someone _die in peace_ even means.  As for winning my forgiveness, there are things that you’ve won, Londo, and things that you deserve, but I am neither of them.  You think that you are the only one who knows what it is like suffer for duty, to suffer pain, betrayal, and isolation, and to harbor a broken heart.  But I know all of these things too, just as well as you.  You have treated me _poorly_ ,” she emphasized the last word, and Londo recoiled under her tone.  She had chosen the least forceful word she might have used, but her tone gave it all the gravity one word could summon. 

She continued tartly, “As you say, you are my emperor, and I will dutifully fulfill your bidding, even if it means dying in exile.  But _let us be clear_ , Londo, I do not do this because you are an emperor or my husband.  I do this because _I choose_ to.  Because in my foolishness, I love you, even though you have deeply wronged me.  But you shall have no further power over me. Even if you came to me on bended knee, I do not know if I could forgive you.  Your pride either still blinds you to the simplest of truths or prevents you from acknowledging it, but I hope for your sake that you will be able to realize that it is your pride that is your downfall before it results in your destruction.”  She stiffened, pity and indignation in her face as she faced the man who had left her in cruel silence for years, “You are a fool and an idiot, Londo Mollari, and you have done this to yourself.  Perhaps I am the bigger fool for falling in love with you.  In any event, I suppose you will be glad that you will be rid of me soon, since marriage ends at death, and you do not believe in the gods.”

Her words shattered his core, and his hearts fell into despondency.  His soul had been strung out upon the rack by her words until it had finally broken. Though he had clung to her acknowledgement that she loved him, he was not able to salvage the power of her words.  He could feel eternity reaching for him, and he knew there was _no time_ to recover the pieces.  He looked up just in time to see her lean forward with a mixture of ire and melancholy on her face as the transmission blinked off.  Staring at the blank screen, he softly replied to no one but himself, “Perhaps, but I would rather be a fool and an idiot with the woman I love safe and far from here than an old man with the regret of looking at the grave of yet another woman he loved.”  He buried his face in a gloved hand, emotion overwhelming him. The other hand curled into a tight fist, striking the arm of the chair once in a burst of rage and pain before his fist unfurled again, his hand laying limp and useless.  And he took comfort in the moment when time took pity on him and rescued him from his despair by pulling him back through eternity.

At Mollari’s return, Cassiella could feel distress emanating from every pore of his body.  Sensing the journey had taken a dark and terrible turn, she noticed something broken in his eyes that had not been there before.  She knew that such a thing would not be caused lightly, and she respectfully gave him the space he did not ask for but clearly required, melting into the other room and leaving him to his thoughts.

Londo collapsed into the nearest chair, his eyes hollow and his body sapped of energy.  He gazed at the wall with eyes unfocused and a haunted look on his face.  Like the timeouts enforced by his Keeper, he sat in unmoving silence for minutes that stretched into hours and hours that seemed to stretch into forever.  And as he sat wordlessly staring into nothingness, he felt a window into his soul slam shut.


	6. We'll Go Down Together

_Why would it,_  
_the Moon_  
_care if the Earth_  
_looked at it_  
_in wonder?_  
_Unless, in looking_  
_back at the Earth_  
_the Moon mistook Earth_  
_for a brother._  
_An understandable_  
_misunderstanding,_  
_when two bodies_  
_are forever falling_  
_toward each other._  
\- Robert Lloyd Jaffe, _The Moon_

Londo stared into nothingness for what seemed like an eternity. His hearts were broken. He had somehow wasted so many opportunities until it was too late. He knew that if he had _time_ , he could have mended this calamity, but time was a luxury now lost to him. He felt his strength to continue wane, and despair overtook his soul. In a haze, he stumbled outside into the fog, not caring where he went, as long as it was as far from his memories as he could be.

Cassiella awoke, a sudden terror in her heart, and she dashed out of the House of Rest looking for her charge. She saw him on the very edge of the fog, almost disappearing into the condensation that shrouded the surrounding landscape as he walked toward the invisible horizon. In desperation, she sent him a telepathic message, knowing she would not be able to reach him before he stepped into the void if he went any further. "Pa'tazio, _please_ , do not step into the fog." There was no response, but he did not move any further forward, and it gave her an opportunity to sprint across the field to him. She did not consider, in the moments it took her to reach him, that her own immortal fate was tied directly to his. A soul was bound together with its Guardian by the Fates until the soul left the Land of the Fog. Many souls, reluctant to heed their Guardian, gave up in the fog, dissolving into the abyss of nothingness, and their Guardians were stranded in the Land of Fog, forever. There were, of course, numerous ways to dissolve into nothingness, and this was merely the first, but this was the only method that claimed the soul of a Guardian as well as the Guardian's charge. So, it was always a tragedy when a soul could not see its way out of the fog and chose to condemn two souls in the place of one.

Finally, Cassiella reached Mollari's position breathlessly. "Pa'tazio," she tried to shake him out of his daze, "please, Pa'tazio, don't go into the fog."

Finally, he turned his dead eyes toward her, "What does it matter? This is as good a death as any, and if I go no further, I will spare myself even more pain."

"Pa'tazio," she grasped his elbows with an intensity that shook through his depression, "You must keep going."

He shook his head, "I did not realize I could make things worse. But it is a talent, you see. You remember what I said about the Universe?" His eyes remained dead, "And I do not think that I have much left to give."

Cassiella tore at his sleeves, "I have been told, Pa'tazio, that you are a man of persistence. So surely you know that battles are won and lost, but the true victors of a war are those that win by being able to rebuild from ruins and ash."

He gazed at her in sadness for a moment before responding, "What does victory matter if it destroys everything you love?" He thought back to all that he had lost, "I thought that you were offering me a chance to make right something I mangled so terribly in the past. I thought that, perhaps, I could become the man I should have been – a man that deserves love. If I _tried_ hard enough, maybe I could bring a spark of light back to my life, a life that was lived in too much darkness." He gazed back at her with a mirthless smile, "But I could not even manage that. I could not offer a genuine apology, or tell her what was in my hearts, or even ask for her forgiveness, even though they were things I desperately wanted. I did not know that I could make an impossible situation even worse." He straightened his back, raising himself to his full height, "And I do not imagine the Universe grants third chances?"

Cassiella knew she was close to losing her charge, but she could not lie to him. "No, Pa'tazio. That history is now written. But if you sacrifice yourself to the fog, you will never get the opportunity to go back and revisit another moment, another person."

"How could I take such a chance? Now that I know that I can make it even worse. It is bad enough as it is. There is nothing left but to let it all be."

Cassiella could feel Mollari's reluctance, his depression, and his sadness, but she also felt him drifting away into the fog, and not only did she not want to see his own life forfeit to the fog, she did not want to see her own end in this way. So, plucking up her own courage, she replied, "Pa'tazio, you have one chance left. You mustn't sacrifice it because of a mistake. Maybe there is someone with whom you share something, and you may make use of this chance without risking everything. Please," she clutched his elbows tightly, pleading and trying to convey the gravity of his choice, " _use_ this opportunity. Don't throw it away."

"There is no one," Londo gazed into the fog, implacable.

"And G'Kar?" Cassiella asked.

Mollari's head snapped around. "What do you know of G'Kar?"

Cassiella tried to shrug off his intense question, "Your response, for one. You asked for him when I awoke you from your rending. He was one of the first thoughts you had. You must care for him very much."

Mollari's eyes softened, placated. "He is – he was – someone I became close with, after a time. I suppose that I will miss him."

Cassiella seized on his sentiment, "Then use your last chance to see him. Don't sacrifice such a chance for nothing," she paused, trying to read him, " _Please_."

Mollari considered this for a moment before allowing a grudging nod. "All right. The things that lie between G'Kar and myself – I am not sure that I can express them. But, I suspect that words will change nothing between us, so I have nothing to lose." There where he stood, at the edge of the fog, he closed his eyes, and he felt his consciousness being pulled towards a moment in time.

When his eyes snapped open, he was sitting. Nausea rolled over him like a freight train, but by now, he had learned to prepare himself for the impending queasiness of inhabiting a body no longer his own, and he pushed his napkin to his mouth to cover his internal convulsions. He managed to choke out a question to his companion, "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" He glanced around the room and noticed that he and G'Kar were seated at the formal dining table in the Emperor's private dining quarters.

G'Kar narrowed his eyes, having been interrupted in the middle of a long exposition on Narn social customs. As he looked back at his host, G'Kar noticed something different in Londo's eyes – almost a silver light, difficult to see, impossible to describe. It jogged something in his memory, and he couldn't help but be spellbound by its reflection. "It was nothing," he said, feeling unsteady under Londo's new scrutiny. Noticing the blood-specked napkin at Londo's lips, he asked, "Are you sure you are all right?"

Mollari was wracked with a new fit of coughing, but he waved the napkin away after a moment. "Yes," he sputtered, "fine." He leaned backwards into his chair, his lungs straining for air. "What were you saying?" he asked again, after gathering himself.

G'Kar's eyes were filled with concern, and he placed a gentle glove on the Emperor's shoulder, "I _said_ it was nothing." G'Kar had harbored thoughts about the emperor's state-of-mind and his medical conditions for some time now, but Londo's lapses in memory were the most troubling. To see Mollari lose his train of thought more and more often, often to the point of total confusion, was excruciating. The man had among the sharpest minds on Babylon 5, and now he was reduced by age and time to a man of chaotic thoughts.

Mollari nodded his head, remembering that even though he felt he had fallen into a warm conversation with an old friend over dinner such as they had on so many occasions at the palace, he still had _very little time_. "G'Kar," Mollari focused on the only method he felt he could use to translate his hearts, "Did I ever tell you the story of Maxr and Paicx?"

G'Kar regarded Mollari for a moment before shaking his head and removing his hand from the Emperor's shoulder, "No, you have not."

"Ah," Mollari smiled, leaning in as if he was going to reveal a secret. He pointed towards G'Kar's breastplate, "It is among our very oldest Centauri stories. It dates back to a time long before we reached the stars," Londo settled back in his chair, taking a breath as if he would be there awhile. "It is from before the time of the Republic when there was much strife between the Centauri tribes, before my divided peoples were united by Emperor Tuscano and before the war with the Xon. It is the story of two brothers who were born to two different mothers but who had a single father, General Hleia. Hleia is an ancient Centauri synonym for 'fire,' and no one knows if that was his real name or if it was a nickname that he won from his many battles. In any event, he was a renowned general for his people, a small tribe on the edge of one of our continents.

Allowing the concern to ebb from his eyes, G'Kar took his glass of Centaurian brivari and made himself comfortable. If there was one thing in the world he knew about Mollari, it was that he most enjoyed telling stories of his beloved Centauri Prime. He settled in for the story.

Mollari continued, "General Hleia had taken two wives – one was from his own tribe and one was from a nearby tribe that he had conquered on one of his many conquests. Hleia's wives both became pregnant around the same time – the people say that Hleia was very," he shook a fist, "virile!" Mollari laughed with a lightness G'Kar had not seen of late. "And when their sons were born on the same day at the same moment in separate bedchambers, the people said that it was a sign from the Fates, but whether it was for good or for ill, no one could say. So, Hleia took his enfant sons, whose names were Maxr and Paicx, to the seers and asked what it could mean, but the seers were blinded from the destinies of these boys.

"Now, because their father was a great army general, these boys were taught the stories of war from the moment they could speak. Their first toys were wooden swords, and they would constantly battle each other. They were both warriors, but they had very different dispositions. Maxr, they said, had eyes of fire that reflected a soul of turbulence and violence. His brother, Paicx, had eyes of ice that reflected a soul of calm and tranquility.

"In those days, we had cavalries where the men rode a handsome beast called a _cabbiolle_ which is similar to the horse on Earth, but ours were decimated in the war with the Xon, and they are now extinct. In a tribute to their father, Maxr and Paicx each received a large carved _cabbiolle_ toy from the tribes commanded by their father, and their favorite pastime was to imagine that they were great warriors riding their toy _cabbiolles_ over the plains of Centauri Prime.

"Now, one day, these boys were pretending to march onto the field of battle, but Maxr tripped and fell, breaking his _cabiolle_ into pieces. He began to cry, and the people say that when his tears hit the ground," Mollari sat up, his body tense with his embellishment of the tale, "the ground _itself_ began to shake. So, Paicx ran to his brother and said, 'Why are you crying, my brother? I have a strong and large _cabbiolle_ , and we may ride together to the field of battle.' And, Paicx pulled Maxr up from the ground by his collar and dried his tears, and they rode away on Paicx's _cabbiolle_ together.

Mollari allowed the tenseness to leave his body as he continued the story, "Less than a few months after this, General Hleia was assassinated, and war broke out between the tribes again. The mother of Maxr was from General Hleia's village, and there Maxr was raised. But the mother of Paicx was from a conquered tribe – the same tribe that had conspired to assassinate General Hleia. For her own safety and the safety of the boy, she ran away and took Paicx back to her old home.

Mollari paused a moment to refill his brivari from the bottle the servants had left on the table before continuing, "So, years passed, and both Maxr and Paicx studied the art of war and how to become soldiers upon the field of battle. In the intervening years, the civil war between the tribes continued, and it was a wretched war – a war of attrition, hunger, and desperation. And when they each came of age, these two young men were sent onto the field of battle by their respective tribes. Each showed bravery, and each become a great warrior for his respective people. Each rose in the ranks to become a commander of a legion. And later, each became a general, though they were fighting on different sides.

"The brothers were both called to fight in a great battle called the battle of Thespiota. This is one of the most famous ancient battles among my people. There, Maxr proved his lust for blood was in his bones, and he marshalled his tactical advantages to slaughter many, many young men of Paicx's tribe, and he was moments from the greatest victory his people had ever known." Mollari paused again, a glint in his eye as he relived the battle playing out in his mind. "Maxr rode upon a handsome, red _cabbiolle_ into the midst of the battle, and he carved his way across the battlefield to the leader of the enemy fighters. Maxr threw a heavy coutari and brought down the man's pale white _cabbiolle_ with one strike. He withdrew the coutari from the white _cabbiolle_ as its blood ran down his hands, and he slashed away his enemy's weapon. Then, he swung the coutari above his head to kill its master. But before he could strike the fatal blow with his blade, it was seized in the air as if ice had formed around it because in that moment, he had noticed that the man pinned beneath the white _cabbiolle_ was familiar to him – and at last, he realized that the man was his brother."

A look of patriotic pride washed over Mollari's face, "In that instant, when he realized that it was Paicx on the ground before him, he grasped Paicx and dragged him out from under the dead _cabbiolle_. Remembering that moment from their boyhood when Paicx had come to his aid, he lowered his coutari. Victory was within his grasp for this battle, and he could have decisively ended the war. His soldiers gathered around him and encouraged him to vanquish the remaining rebel forces who had killed his father and to slay this man – the rebels' leader - whose death he had already _won_ by rights in this battle.

"But remembering Paicx's actions when they were children, Maxr refused. He said, 'He may be my enemy. He may be the man whose forces have killed a great many of my people. But we have both lost a father, and more than my enemy, he is my brother. I will not be the instrument of his death. I will not break this bond of blood.' And he embraced Paicx and tended to Paicx's wounds before lifting Paicx to his feet, and Maxr told him "I have a strong and large _cabbiolle_ , you will take him, and he will take you home. And he placed Paicx upon his red _cabbiolle_ , his favorite mount adorned with his own banner now protecting his enemy, and Paicx returned to his decimated troops, and Paicx and his troops returned home.

"When Paicx returned home, there was an uneasy peace between the warring tribes for a short time that was fashioned out of the devastating Battle of Thespiota. Paixc urged his people to make a full peace, and he tirelessly worked toward this end. But his people were not content because of the slaughter of their brave warriors during the Battle of Thespiota. Paicx tried at every turn to quell their anger and build a lasting future of peace, but no man could stop the tide of anger that was rising, and it rose until it could not be quenched.

"Unbeknownst to Paicx, a few of his tribe's bravest warriors rode out one night to carry out a daring raid on Maxr's village, and they did not come back until they were able to take Maxr prisoner through cunning, deception, guile, and courage. They brought Maxr back to their village, and they went to General Paicx and told him of Maxr's capture. The mob told him, 'General Paicx, we will take our revenge on _all_ of their people one-by-one _or_ we will take revenge on General Maxr tonight.' They left the choice to Paicx as to whether they would continue to wage this war that had been going on for more than a decade or to declare peace after the death of Maxr. Paicx knew what the cost of this war had been – for his own father had been slain. And he could not justify continuing the war, but he also knew that they planned to tear Maxr from limb to limb and piece to piece until he died of pain and terror, so Paicx went to the place where they were holding Maxr.

Paicx's tears shook the ground as he told Maxr that his death would end this long war and bring the peace they had hoped for to all of their people. So Maxr took the coutari from Paicx's sheath and gave it back, hilt first. And, knowing the others planned to torture him for days, he asked one mercy of his brother as he knelt down, 'Paicx,' he said, 'you shall do this for peace for our people. You are my enemy, but you are also my brother. So, I ask you to choose peace and do this for me – I ask you to take this blade and use it to take my life. I would rather my brother strike me down in love than an enemy strike me down in hate. Make my death as swift as it may be. If I must die, I wish it to be at your hands so that I may embrace you in the next life for this act of kindness.'

Paicx did not want to do this, but _he knew_ what it meant: the lives it would save, the peace that could heal the rifts of their peoples. So he took the blade, and before he swung it, he said to Maxr, ' _I will recognize you in every lifetime, and you will always be my brother._ ' And he saved his brother by smiting him into the afterlife with one strong blow, granting him an honorable death and a lasting peace to all of their people.

"But when his brother lay dead at his feet, Paicx was not satisfied. He took the blade from the body and turned to his people and said, 'Can you not see that we have the same blood? That it runs the same color? That we are one? You have asked for the death of my brother to buy peace, but in doing so, you have also bought my own death because I cannot leave the murder of my brother unavenged. So I avenge his murder with my own blade.' And he took the blade and sliced open his chest, his blood spilling on the same ground where his brother's had ran cold a few moments before. And he fell next to his brother, his blood running out along the ground until his hearts could beat no more."

Mollari sipped his brivari more thoughtfully now, "They say that because of their service to their people, Paicx and Maxr were granted many lifetimes. There is not a perfect standard translation for their names, but one indicates the call to arms, the drive toward confrontation. The other signifies the deconstruction of conflict, the effort propelling a people toward their reconciliation. You will yet find their names upon some hearths within homes of the Centauri Republic. And in each lifetime, it is said that they recognize each other still, no matter where or when they encounter each other. They were raised in the tradition of their father, and yet, they are forever bound as both brothers and enemies. They signify conflict and reconciliation, essential elements of each other. One cannot exist without a conception of the other. They are intertwined, forever bound. I do not think it would be proper to describe Maxr and Paicx as friends, and yet there was a bond there, different than friendship, stronger than friendship – this bond that intimately intertwined them through eternity."

Mollari paused, staring at his empty brivari tumbler. "I think that if anyone in the Universe could understand what lies between us, G'Kar, it is Paicx and Maxr. I think perhaps their example will guide us to the end of this path that we are on. 'Friendship' seems somehow inadequate for what lies between us after all these years. Perhaps, an 'ally' would be a better word - that you have been, true, but also that does not quite capture it. We are of different cultures, different races, and different worlds. Different blood runs through our veins, but I know this one thing. I have asked many things from you; some of them were not mine to ask. You have irritated me and angered me, and at times, I have hated you with great passion. And yet, I find that I would sacrifice a great many things for you, including my life, if it was asked. And likewise, here you are, in this pit of vipers, rather than with your own people. And where we once would kill each other, we care for each other's lives and…." He thought of their final moments, "and I will yet ask of you things that are not mine to ask."

G'Kar's good eye blazed brighter as he nodded and replaced the hand on Londo's shoulder. "You do not need to explain. _I understand_."

Londo returned the nod. "Yes, I think that you do. You are the only one who can understand what it means to take the passion created by hatred and change it to something else. I find there are no words to describe this thing."

G'Kar's hand closed tighter on Londo's shoulder. "Mollari, my people believe that there are certain ideas that cannot be expressed in words. Those who are meant to know _will_ understand, and those who were not meant to know can _never_ understand." He felt emotion welling in his chest, "But I _do_ understand. If there must be a label, a brother may be as close as one may come. We have fought as brothers fight for scraps from their father's table. We have laughed as companions at a tavern laugh after the journey of a lifetime. We have perpetrated acts upon each other that even the fiercest of enemies would not inflict upon each other, yet they are acts that an errant brother might commit against a family that has deeply wronged him, for the deepest blows come not from our enemies but from those we have loved deeply. I, too, feel that all of these events that have passed between us have rendered an obligation between us that I find does not exist with others. It is an obligation of respect, and something more. It is something that I also cannot describe in words, but I can _feel_. And I _understand_ , as you do."

G'Kar remembered the death dream he had ripped from Mollari's mind using Dust long ago. He had seen a great many things in Mollari's mind, and to tell the truth, he had been a vicious and vindictive person until that day. But when he had entered Mollari's mind, his father had had come to G'Kar in the Dust-induced dream. G'Kar had a clear choice at that moment of clarity: choose to heed the voice of his father or continue on his perilous path of hate. G'Kar had chosen to heed his father's words, and his father's pleas had broken G'Kar's spine of vindictiveness. At that moment of choice, he began a slow evolution into a better man, a man he would have never become without inflicting vicious harm on Mollari. Yet that harm had been his own redemption. G'Kar had never apologized in words to his old enemy, but he hoped that his daily actions lived the unspoken apology.

Realization slowly dawned on G'Kar as he considered Mollari's words, _I think perhaps their example will guide us to the end of this path that we are_ _on_. G'Kar realized that Mollari was indicating that the day of the death G'Kar had first encountered in the Dust dream was fast approaching, and finally, G'Kar understood why he was still at the palace and what Mollari would ask of him in the days to come. G'Kar thought back to the words of his father that had come to him in his Dust-drenched dreams, " _Some of us must be sacrificed if all are to be saved_." This was what Mollari was asking of him now, to help him sacrifice to save others, to save the future of his people through his own death. G'Kar's eyes grew sad, but they reflected an aura of acceptance. This was the price that Mollari's redemption and his own redemption required, so he responded with a knowing nod, "If the day arrives when you ask of me things that are not yours to ask but which I may give – if you, yourself, were Maxr kneeling before me asking to be sacrificed for the good of the many, you may count on me to strike the blow at your bidding."

G'Kar met Mollari's eyes, and they held a gaze of understanding for some moments, each man knowing that the day would arrive sooner than either would like, though the hour had not yet been cast. G'Kar thought he saw Mollari's jaw tremble and his eyes filling with emotion and relief that his unspoken question had been answered, not only with an affirmative answer but with _understanding_ of what he was asking and _why_.

Mollari placed a soft hand on G'Kar's shoulder with a lingering squeeze, "There is no one," his voice broke, "that I would rather have strike such a blow."

Mollari felt his restless Keeper concerned by this discussion, not quite knowing what to think of the story or G'Kar's response. The Keeper sensed a dangerous sentiment passing between the men, and it tightened the reins of Mollari's nerves, forcing excruciating pain through Londo's body. Mollari closed his eyes, releasing himself to the pain, treating it as a nostalgic return to home. It was not the debilitating pain of Shiv'kala, but it was a clear warning from the Drakh. As the throes of pain racked his body, he reminded himself that while he was under the Drakh's heel, he had still chosen to throw off their yoke, and his ultimate sacrifice would give his soul and his people a measure of redemption. As he released himself to the pain, he felt himself falter under its control for a moment before he opened his eyes again and met G'Kar's gaze.

In that moment, the two men exchanged something wordlessly through a glance – a sense of gratitude for the roles that they had played in each other's lives – each knowing that they would have been diminished without the other, each knowing that the convictions that had so defined them in later life was born from the fire that had enveloped them at the beginning of their relationship. In that glance, the love and mutual respect that they had for each other was expressed without a word being uttered, but there was a lingering sadness that was palpable in the air, for it was both a blessing and a burden. It was a knowledge that each man was committed to the deadly favor that was critical to their intertwined destiny.

As the end of the evening had slipped away, G'Kar sensed no further words would be needed or offered, so he stood, saluting Mollari with a traditional Narn salute, his fists to his chest as he took his leave. His good eye blazed brighter than it had in the past year. He felt his chest was too tight to breathe, and tonight, it was not caused by the constriction of his armor after an enjoyable meal in the Emperor's personal dining room. G'Kar's salute was even crisper than usual, his iron fists gripped so tight that they quivered.

As G'Kar stood, Mollari felt the tingling of time pulling him away, but he managed to push his chair back and offer a bow of his head to his old comrade-in-arms before seeing G'Kar's back depart through the doors toward his private quarters. As the door slid closed, Mollari slumped into his chair, exhausted from the Keeper's threads of pain which had been drawn alarmingly tight through his body, and he felt himself suddenly tumbling back into the abyss.

Later that same night, after G'Kar had returned to his room, G'Kar thumbed through his cherished book of G'Quan, looking for an old passage that he had read so many times without comprehension. Finally, he found the drawing he sought in the margin of G'Quan's book. The drawing depicted a Narn with a glittering silver reflection in his eyes, and the margin note said simply that when gods and men returned to the living, they could be separated from the living only by the stardust in their eyes. And as G'Kar stared at the drawing for hours, the knowledge of destiny reached out to him from the yellowed pages.

That night was the last time G'Kar saw Mollari before Ministers Lione and Durla had their Prime Candidates find G'Kar in his quarters and drag him to the dungeons below. The ministers delivered a sharp warning to the Emperor with a note written to impede his interference, and their warning was buttressed by the Drakh's pledge to punish G'Kar, Senna, and Vir if the Emperor did not cooperate. And so Mollari had complied - until his final hour with G'Kar was cast. And shortly after G'Kar was taken to the dungeon, his eye was brutally ripped from his socket and delivered to the Emperor. But none of these things could unwind the moment in which they said not a word, and yet it had meant everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jaffe poem at the beginning reminded me of this quote from Book III: Legions of Fire:  
> Delenn: “Those two . . . G’Kar and Londo . . . they are bound by fate, John. They circle each other like binary stars.”  
> “Binary stars,” Sheridan reminded her, “allow no life between them. Their gravity wells crush whatever planets might start to form.”  
> “Yes,” she said. “I know. And that may well be the case with G’Kar and Londo, as well. They may well be destined to crush all life between them with the intensity of their will, until nothing is left. Not even them."  
> \----------  
> 


	7. Pride Goeth Before a Fall

_I have been a seeker_  
_Seeking a flaming star,_  
_And the flame white star_  
_Has burned my hands_  
_Even from afar._

 _Walking in a dream-dead world_  
_Circled by iron bars,_  
_I sought a singing star's wild beauty,_  
_Now behold my scars._

\- Langston Hughes, _Star Seeker_

Mollari awoke some time later, sprawled across the little bed in the House of Rest. As he pulled himself up into a sitting position on the side of the bed, he realized the journeys to the world of the living had taken a toll on him. He felt drained – not just emotionally but as if whatever energy fueled him in the Land of Fog had been siphoned from his body. He thought it odd that the afterlife required rest, but whatever function it served, it had allowed his mind to reset and begin to revitalize itself for the next phase of the journey. But the painful memories of the Keeper were still reverberating in his mind, and he unsuccessfully tried to push them from his thoughts. So, rather than fight the exhaustion he still sensed, he let himself fall back again, surrendering to the only other moments that allowed him peace: a long, dreamless asleep. And just before it overtook him, he wondered if a dreamless eternity would not be the kindest fate that could be offered to him.

Sometime later, he woke again feeling as if he had slept for ages. He pushed himself to his feet, his mind trying to shake the groggy sensation in his mind. As he looked up, he saw Cassiella patiently waiting for him at the doorway, her arms full with a package bound with ribbon.

"What's this?" Mollari asked, nodding toward the package.

Ignoring his question for the moment, Cassiella responded with one of her one, "How did it go?"

Mollari's shoulders sank with a sigh, "I don't know. These little trips weren't the bloodletting I thought they would be, but I don't think there was an epiphany that will make this journey we are on any easier."

Cassiella's face was expressionless. "Perhaps it wasn't meant as an epiphany."

"Then what?" Londo demanded, his brow furrowing in mild agitation.

"A gift?" Cassiella shrugged.

Mollari snorted, "If you had been there with Timov, you'd know it was not a gift. I think," he rubbed his face with weariness, "I am finally ready for the end. Besides, what else can the Universe take from me? It has taken my life, my career, my love, my reputation, even my people whose blood is on my hands. What else can it rip from me? I think that, perhaps, it would be best if we made an end of it."

"It is best not to tempt the Fates, Pa'tazio," Cassiella replied softly. The Guardian's bond with her charge allowed her to monitor his state of mind, and she could feel his exhaustion, his weariness, and the overwhelming depression that was still seizing him from the depths of his core. But if he wished to move forward, he would need to survive more than just submitting himself to oblivion, and he needed strength that she wasn't certain he had anymore. It was possible she was underestimating the reserves of Londo Mollari, but she wasn't willing to risk the chance. She knew that there was one gift she could offer him. It was a gift granted to very few Centauri souls on their last journey. "Pa'tazio, I wish to bring you to someone, one final destination before you must cross over, but you cannot go dressed like this," she pointed to his clothing. He was still wearing the gleaming white that demarcated the office of the Emperor. He had never been particularly fond of it, but it had come with the territory. "What is wrong with it?" he asked suspiciously.

"There is nothing _wrong_ with it, other than I would think a change of clothes would be welcomed. There is another reason, but I think I would prefer to explain it later. For now, I have only these, if you will take them," she unwound a satchel filled with garments. She unwrapped a full change of clothes, including a waistcoat in gold that folded left with buttons carved from bloodstone that lined each side in a double-breasted style. There was also a luxurious, calf-length tailcoat colored in gold and trimmed and lined in dark scarlet silk, its heavy extended crimson cuffs rolled back and plunging toward the sleeves. Embroidery of fire spilled down the forearms, leaving drops of crimson cascading toward the upper arms. The coated was etched with intricate golden floral details that reflected the light catching their strands, and its threads seemed to play with the light in an ethereal manner. The elegant coat also sported a tall, thickly lined scarlet collar embellished with gold coils. Heavily braided embroidery reminiscent of the Centauri Republic's coat-of-arms cascaded down the left shoulder, and the crimson lapels were accented by short hand braided Hussar ribs repeated down the length of the coat that each ended in a bloodstone button, giving the coat an aura of a distinctly decorated military uniform. The rest of the chest, sleeves, and back of the garment were trimmed with further gold embellishments over the satin gold base.

Londo peered at it with interested, "Do you have one in Tyrian purple? I think it might suit me better," he asked, a smile playing at his lips. Seeing no reaction from Cassiella, he intensified his gaze on her a moment before responding. "So, you wish me to change? You wish me to strip then, hmm?" The thought had given him only a momentary pause before the more playful aspect of his nature took over. He had never relished the Emperor's white, and although he prided himself on his appearance, he had lost his appreciation for the stilted formalities he was forced to endure as Emperor. Now, he was free to wear whatever he liked, and making his prudish Guardian blush was a challenge worthy of his old self. "Perhaps you have heard the Earth story about the Emperor's new clothes?" he chuckled, but his eyes did not leave hers as he began to rip off his scarf, his waistcoat, each item with more force than the one before. Soon, he was in a state of almost full undress, and he drew himself up, taller than before.

Cassiella didn't dare smirk or laugh. She knew Londo's soul had a mischievous streak, but she refused to stand down from the brazen challenge he was offering her. He thought she would buckle under his stare or dissolve in timidity, but she held his eyes, refusing to have her bluff called. She didn't blush with each new piece of clothing he tore off. She was a Guardian, after all, and she had a duty as well, and if he thought he could ply her into submission by embarrassing her with his egotism, he was sorely mistaken about the character of his Guardian. She withdrew a white undershirt, gold trousers and a gold cravat embellished with a gold floral pattern, the gilded waistcoat, black leather cavalry boots, and the embroidered jacket from her satchel never breaking his eye contact or letting her eyes falls below his as he changed.

Mollari was impressed by the intensity of Cassiella's gaze, which never faltered or strayed from his own, and her eyes seemed to almost smolder back at him in rebuke. Noting that she didn't relinquish the challenge he'd laid at her feet, he pursued it until all that was left to don were his boots. He took them from her, not breaking the gaze until he leaned down to slide them on, the challenge dismissed with the same self-confidence with which it had been offered.

As Mollari pulled his boots on, his attention finally elsewhere, Cassiella allowed herself to blink, slightly unnerved by the challenge he had thrown at her. It gave her the unintended reassurance that he may yet have enough left in reserve to make it to the end of the journey. Nevertheless, she felt the next destination might buoy him against what laid at the end of his path.

Having dressed, Mollari struck a handsome figure in the scarlet and gold. "I am not disappointed to leave behind the trappings of the imperial office. But this," he gestured toward his new ensemble, "seems rather elaborate. And this scarlet – is it meant to signify something particular? It is a red that is almost the color of black. I don't remember it having much significance among my people except for…" he stopped himself, a humorless smile appearing on his face, as he peered closer at the sleeves, noticing they reproduced the effect of blood splattered up the arms to the elbows. "Ah, I see, of course, I should have known. It is meant for blood." It was a statement, rather than a question, and Cassiella inclined her head in agreement. "The blood upon my hands, is it?" he nodded, adjusting his cravat in the House of Rest's only mirror without a further glance in her direction. "Well," he smoothed his jacket over his chest, "I suppose I can wear it on my person as well as my mind." But although he spoke in a carefree flippancy, she could feel the pain laid bare behind his mask, visible to no person who did not have the gifts of a telepath.

After a short glance in the mirror, he turned to her at last, "It reminds me of the Northern generals of the early Republic. All I need a coutari at my side," he smiled, pleased with the change out of the imperial white and its responsibilities.

"As you say, Pa'tazio," Cassiella managed a half-smile. He certainly seemed to lose years with the elegant outfit, but she wondered if he would bear its burden as placidly as he let on. "You may yet have use of the coutari," she said as she gestured toward a nearby coutari in the House of Rest.

Mollari sighed, his hopes dashed that this journey would find its end quickly. "All right," he said, picking up the closest one, withdrawing it from its sheath, and testing its blade with his thumb before replacing it in the sheath and slinging it haphazardly over a shoulder using the sash meant to be worn around the waist. "I am ready. You shall lead the way, and I will follow."

They left the House of Rest without a backward glance. Cassiella walked a step in front of Mollari, confidently pointing him toward an unseen destination. They traveled for a full day on their journey through the fog. The fog made Mollari feel as though he was not moving forward, that each step was a repeat of the last one, and the feeling gave him an unsteady sensation of vertigo. By the end of the excursion, his chest was heaving, more from the unbalanced sensation than actual exertion, although he was mentally tired. At last, when he felt he could not take another step, Mollari put a hand on Cassiella's shoulder, and she turned to face him.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, concentrating on the distance. After a moment, he added, "it sounds like a stream, or a small brook."

Cassiella inclined her head in agreement, "It is the fountain we are seeking."

Furrowing his brow in anticipation, Mollari again followed his Guardian's steps, but soon, a large fountain emerged from the fog, and a lithe child no more than 12 or 13 sat at its base, her fingers trailing in the gurgling fountain.

Before they were in earshot of the child, the Guardian turned to him and asked, "Have you heard the tale of Isranolla, Angel of the Waters?"

Mollari hesitated. Everyone knew of the folk tale. It came from the region of Lake Challa, which was famous for three things: the tale of the Angel of the Waters, the nunnery founded in the Angel's memory at the base of the Lake, and the ancient Hanging Gardens, which had been lost to time. Londo's family home was located in the same Northern region as Lake Challa, so he was intimately familiar with the story.

In the years before the Republic, a young girl named Isranolla lived on the shores of Lake Challa, one of Centauri Prime's natural wonders. The lake was filled with a tropical algae that caused its waters to turn pink. The vast lake was formed at the feet of granite mountains which were painted in hues of deep amber, red, and orange, so the colorful landscape gave the illusion of a sunset no matter what time of day it was. But at the hour of dawn and dusk, it took on an ethereal aura, and it took the breath of all who saw it.

The area around Lake Challa was humid and tropical which was typical of the entirety of Centauri Prime, but this particular area seemed to inspire greater and more diverse plant growth, and hanging gardens had quickly become a local pastime. Early tribal leaders around the lake had been inspired to create a public hanging garden with nearby bathing pools, and they were the pride of the region.

Isranolla, a child who had just reached the age of puberty, lived near the hanging gardens. She had already exhibited signs of being a great seer – each sequence of events she foretold from a small toddler had proven correct time and time again. But she was blind to her own fateful future. She was brutally violated by her own father, and she became pregnant. To cover his crimes, he locked her away from prying eyes and cut out her tongue, planning to kill the baby as soon as it was born, but she escaped and left the baby on the steps of a stranger's house at a neighboring village. Unwisely, she returned home to convince her father the child had died, but her father had become violently distressed at her absence and, worried that his crimes would be revealed, he slew her and threw her body into Lake Challa before the crime was discovered.

However, observant neighbors found the body, and the brutal crime was uncovered. The village rioted in protest against the father, who held a powerful position in the local government. The local king, who was king of several allied Northern Tribes, rode with his troops to the tiny village, but rather than punish the father for his crime, the King unilaterally absolved the father of blame. He punished the villagers for their riots and their insolence by having a pit filled with their heads. The villagers who survived said that as the King rode from the village, the child's image had risen from the lake, towering over it, and she foretold that she would scalp him in vengeance for his cold and cruel heart and, at the last, he would beg her to do it. She did not shout the words for she also had no tongue in death, but wrote them in the sea, the churning waters burning with her anger.

Only a few days later, a massive and deadly earthquake demolished most of the local structures and killed masses of people. The villagers of the region believed it was the gods exacting their anger over Isranolla's death and events in its aftermath, for both the king and the father were killed in the massive upheaval, and the region was robbed of its beautiful gardens. Decades of ruin followed. The region's tribes were otherwise engaged in fighting wars against each other and the Xon, so there was no money, will, or urgency to rebuild the gardens, and their exact location was lost to time. But the spirit of the gardens became a legend in the area, the mythical Hanging Gardens of Lake Challa, one of Centauri Prime's earliest and most beautiful wonders, cursed by the terrible actions of a criminal and a king.

Mollari glanced at the small figure in the distance pensively, "Yes, I have heard the tale."

"Then you understand now why I asked you to change."

He nodded, "The white of Centauri kings and emperors would be…inappropriate before her." He scrutinized the figure in the distance. The stories said that the ill-begotten child of the Angel was raised by strangers in another village. The child eventually became the matriarch of all the great seers on Centauri Prime, and she had founded the nunnery at Lake Challa in her mother's memory to protect young orphans, seers, and girls from the brutality of Centauri men. The nunnery was run in secrecy, and although many other rumors about it abounded, few could confirm anything that happened inside its walls, but it was thought most prophetesses from Tuwain could be traced by their lineage to the founder of the nunnery.

Mollari placed a hand on his guardian's arm, "Did she…get her revenge in the afterlife, at least? There are many who say that the story is made of lies and the child was no seer at all."

"As you know, the sense of the story is that she not only cursed the king but his successors as well. And look at her," Cassiella commanded. "She is but a child," Cassiella gestured toward the petite figure, "and what man would offer her his scalp on a platter? She waits here, stuck in the Land of the Fog, and she may not pass to the next place until she fulfills her destiny."

Mollari could think of no modern king or emperor with a heart large oblige the child's whims except perhaps Turhan, but he had no crest to give. "So she is like me, then, infamous for things she could not do."

He couldn't read Cassiella's guarded expression. At last, she beckoned him forward. When they reached Isranolla, Cassiella encouraged the child to come forward, which she did, shyly. Cassiella nodded at her encouragingly, before turning back to Londo, "She cannot _tell,_ " she said, "but she can _see_." Then Cassiella encouraged the child, and Isranolla took heart and turned her back to the newcomers, looking back at the fountain again. She spread her hands, and the flowing waters of the fountain suddenly quieted into serenity and calm.

She pulled her hands toward her breast, and a portion of the fountain's waters rose in the air. She pushed her hands together, and the water complied, forming a floating bubble of water, throbbing in the air. Isranolla pulled her hands apart and the ball stretched into a cylinder. A miniature galaxy burst forth within its watery gaze, its reflection expanding in the pulsing cylinder of water. The pulsing water gave it the sense of life within it, and as she guided it, the galaxy moved through time, evolving as it changed. The child glanced up at Londo, smiling with her handicraft. She was able to show him the galaxy in four dimensions, and it was infinitely more beautiful than three, which did not capture its magnificence. In it, he could see the beauty of opposites: breath and the lack of breath, yin and yang, matter and emptiness. Each of the opposites dwelled partially in itself and partially in its opposite. As he watched the galaxy's expansion through time and then its contraction, he was overwhelmed with its beauty. And then she forced the water smaller and showed him that it was such a tiny part of an even more majestic unity with even greater beauty to behold: the universe.

Mollari stared at the water for several moments before Cassiella gently interrupted his thoughts. "Pa'tazio, what would you like her to show you?"

Mollari tore his gaze from the beauty in front of him for a moment to stare at Cassiella before returning to the image in front of him. "What could have been, if things had been different, if I had made better choices…" he murmured.

Cassiella nodded at the girl, and Isranolla decompressed the water, pulling the galaxy back into focus. She swiped the images to a spot in time, then pulling her hands apart to zoom in on one of the galaxy's planets: Centauri Prime. She showed him several scenarios: one in which he never divorced his first wife. He found genuine love but languished in poverty, and Lord Refa replaced him as the pawn of the Drakh, and Londo and his wife died in the initial bombing of Centauri Prime. In another, without G'Kar's help, Cartagia's madness could not be stopped and the planet was destroyed as a result of Cartagia's scheming in the Shadow War with the Vorlons. In yet another, Durla succeeded in assassinating Londo, and the Drakh power and influence spread throughout the galaxy, decimating Earth's defenses and rendering it under Drakh control.  There were countless scenarios, each progressively worse.  In almost all of them, Narn suffered greater casualties and in some instances, was completely crushed.  And where Narn wasn't crushed, other worlds became the focus of Centauri destruction by virtue of the same faults that ran not just through Londo Mollari but countless other Centauri.

What he realized as he watched these scenarios play out was that the galaxy had specific events etched into its future, written by the Fates, and while circumstances leading up to those events could be changed, the ultimate events did not change.  He did not know if it was comforting or terrifying that a future was both written and unwritten -- but it seemed no matter what happened to him personally, the outcome for the galaxy was a slide into confrontation during his lifetime.

Dismayed at each new circumstance and realizing perhaps the galaxy was beyond his control, Londo returned his attention to Isranolla. "Is there nothing that could have been done to spare me these things?"

Without explanation, Isranolla projected an image in the water of Londo standing at Vir's grave, and he drew back, more shocked than before. He shook his head, "No, I would not…it cannot possibly be so…I would not trade Vir for…" he thought about what trading Vir's lifetime could mean, "No, not for anything that you could offer me would I have him stand in my place."

Cassiella could feel cold fear clenching his hearts, and her hand stretched out to quell the fear. She turned to the Angel of the Waters, "Please show him the future, beyond his lifetime."

Isranolla complied, concentrating. She forwarded the images into the future. There was a bountiful and prosperous Centauri Prime, although it was unclear how far in the future she had cast the images. Then, she passed through several images and pulled the water wider, zooming in until there was an image of Vir and Senna, hand-in-hand, walking in sundrenched fields, a number of their children surrounding them. The child flicked her wrist, and the images washed away, the water returning to the fountain.

Londo's heart caught in his throat as he saw these last images, trying to choke down his emotion. Besides the carriage ride, years ago, when a young prophetess had told him that Centauri Prime would prosper after his death, he had nothing else to guide him but buried optimism and hope. "Thank you for this," he bowed his head toward Isranolla before nodding to Cassiella that they could continue on.

Mollari began to walk away, but after a few moments, he slowed his steps. During his lifetime, he had made terrible choices, but they had been his choices, nonetheless. He had always convinced himself that one choice was no choice at all. And yet, there was always a choice. Perhaps only a drastic alternative, but a choice nonetheless. And all too often, he realized only too late what a mistake he had made. But here and now, he could still correct this mistake. This child had given him her gifts of insight and asked nothing in return. But he had something to give her: his pride, or what was left of it, anyway. She had helped him to understand that the path of the universe had been written and yet was also unwritten, and if he had made terrible decisions, they were also were terrible alternatives. Even if his life was not perfect, he had managed. More time and more choices would not have allowed the life of bliss he had envisioned in his dreams. And this child had given him a gift that was more fulfilling than anything he had ever received. His first love, his true love, Centauri Prime, would remake herself, re-embodying the fertility that she had lost in the past decades, and she would live again in resiliency with a kind and wise emperor at her helm. This was, indeed, a gift.

So, Mollari sighed, releasing his pride with his breath, and he turned back and walked to the child. He knelt down on one knee. "My lady," he addressed her as a noblewoman, "I have been wearing this crown far too long, and I can no longer bear its weight." He paused, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "I beg of you, my lady, to relieve me of it." He unwound the coutari from his shoulder, and dropped the sheath, giving the bare blade, hilt first, to her.

The child's eyes grew wide, biting her lips at his request. She glanced at Cassiella who reassured her, "He is, indeed, a Centauri emperor."

The child's eyes grew even larger, and took the coutari from Londo's hands, its weight almost too heavy for her to wield accurately. But whatever Mollari had realized over the course of this journey, he was no longer afraid of a swift end, and if it was to be at the hands of this child, he would dissolve into nothingness with the knowledge that his true love, Centauri Prime, would thrive again. Mollari bowed his head so that she could reach it, and he waited for the blow.

In one swift slash, part of Mollari's crest was severed from the scalp that the blade narrowly missed, leaving jagged hair protruding. As the coutari sliced through his hair, the symbol of manliness in Centauri society, the remaining dark pride in his breast was crushed, replaced with something far nobler.

Looking up, he saw the child's eyes dancing as she held his crest in her hand. She opened her hand, and blew it, as if sending it to the wind, and it dissipated like dust from her hand.

Touching the jagged edges, he asked, "Will you not take it all?"

The child shook her head in the smallest of gestures, her eyes still dancing.

Mollari gave her one firm nod, "It is perhaps for the best, I would look like an old woman with all of it gone, and I'm afraid I don't think that I would make a very attractive woman."

A smile spread on the child's face as she shook her head, agreeing with him. From one side, Londo heard Cassiella murmur toward him, "It is an honorable thing that you have done for her."

Still on one knee, Mollari began to rise, but the child caught his fingertips, and as he stood, she clasped his hand and led him back to the fountain. She spread her fingers to calm and clear the water, but first she pointed at his reflection with a smile, showing him how short she had cut his hair with her lopsided blow.

Infected by her happiness, he smiled back at the silly image before him, "Yes, I suppose I shall have to style it like Cartagia's hair now, hmm?"

The child turned to him and pulled him down again so she could re-arrange it into a semblance of Cartagia's short crest, and stood back, pleased with his new look. Then, she turned back to the waters she had just calmed and pulling her hand back, water leapt out of the fountain, forming the hovering bubble again. She swiped right as if to signify the passage of time, and the image of the galaxy changed with her commands. Then, she pulled her hands apart, expanding the images reflected in the water and zooming in on Centauri Prime, closer and closer, until there was an image of Emperor Vir Cotto, late in his reign with grayed hair, addressing his people. Londo leaned in closer, as the words were faint, but he could tell Vir was praising the people and their hard work and dedication. He was commending the work of the rebuilt Centaurum and its ongoing democratic reforms to ensure its membership reflected the makeup of the people as well as preserved the honor of the Noble Houses. Cotto praised the lushness and beauty of Centauri Prime, and remarked on its remarkable transformation since he had been crowned.

At this, Londo winced, recalling the flames and destruction he had seen through the palace windows. He knew he had left Vir with much to rebuild. But as Londo recoiled, Isranolla tugged on his fingers again as she moved the waters' images. Behind Vir was a path cascading with flora and fauna, a walkway through a thick and lush garden, replete with hanging foliage. Londo moved closer, as if it would give him a better view, and seeing Mollari peer closer at the image, the child expanded it, giving him a virtual tour of the garden. Mollari's jaw dropped as he saw the beauty of Centauri Prime's flowers and vegetation brought to life on the winding path. Sunbeams wove in and out of the garden's trail, highlighting an untold variety of Centauri Prime's tropical paradise. On the garden's path, there were pedestrians, hikers, and bikers meandering through its sights, and Mollari could see nobles and laymen mingling in the revels of the garden. He could barely tear his eyes from its beauty but finally he looked at the child, "Vir rebuilt the hanging gardens of Lake Challa?"

The child smiled in reply, but she beckoned him to look again, and he returned his gaze to the virtual tour. She swiped her hand, and the tour picked up its pace. Mollari noticed the path continued through different types of vegetation, different regions, and different tropical climates. He noticed that the clothing of the garden's admirers changed from traditionally Northern to traditionally Southern, and there were pieces of art and statutes from each major Centauri region. Mollari shook his head in disbelief. "How big are these gardens?"

The child's face brightened, her hands compressing the water, and the image zoomed out, and he saw, for the first time, that the gardens encircled the entire major continent of Centauri Prime. "Gods," he gasped, "it is impossible that they could stretch so far. I have never, in all my life, seen anything like it, not on any world." He could not draw his eyes away from the images that kept coming of families strolling, children playing, artists painting, theatre troupes acting, opera singers hosting performances, and commoners laughing as they enjoyed the long band of gardens that bound the entire continent into one large interconnected path of beauty and life.

Equal to the numbers of Centauri were off-worlders who had been banished from the planet under his reign. Vir had clearly been able to coax tourists back onto the planet. In the past, Mollari had distained the idea of Centauri Prime having become a tourist trap because they were only there looking backwards in time toward the hollow shell of a ruined Empire. But _these_ tourists in the images in front of him were not there for the past, but instead, they were paying tribute to the hard work and dedication of a new generation of Centauri. Their tourist money would usher needed infusions of ducats back into the Centauri economy, stimulating the entire Republic. His chest swelled with pride at the sight – the gardens were a testament to the beauty of all of Centauri Prime, and they would bring the bragging rights of the galaxy with them. Of course the rest of the galaxy would be in awe of such awe-inspiring splendor, and it would only be appropriate that the Centauri would want to show off what could only be described as one of the wonders of the galaxy. In turn, he could see in the images that the gardens had inspired artists and artisans, and the flourishing of the gardens marked a departure from the war-like attitude of the Centauri toward an artistic calling, one well suited to their tastes and lifestyles. There were certainly worse things Centauri Prime could become than a tourist destination for artists and lovers of beauty.

A smile brushed the corners of Mollari's mouth as he continued to watch the images. Seeing the royal mark of the Emperor upon the carved stone benches and the official statues and art that periodically ornamented the garden path, Mollari realized that the gardens must have been a public work project directed by Emperor Cotto. Considering the size and breadth of the gardens, the project would have been started near the beginning of Vir's reign, likely to employ the desperate population and rescue the precious flora and fauna at risk for extinction. The project had clearly grown by leaps and bounds over many years into the enormous task that the people had embraced and accomplished. Londo could imagine that the gardens would allow the dark days of the past to fade into memory and hope for a brighter future to be cultivated.

He watched the images for a long time, contentment evident on his face. "They are beautiful," he whispered, emotion having seized his chest. "Vir has done a better job than I could have imagined."

But the child again seized his arm to gain his attention. She swiped the gardens quickly, running through its changing mountainscapes and seascapes until she held the images again on Emperor Cotto's speech. "We have built these gardens together," Vir addressed the crowd, seeming much more at ease speaking in front of a large crowd than he had ever been during Londo's lifetime, "and they represent the beauty and future of Centauri Prime. You know, I think that Emperor Mollari II would be proud of these gardens. I have told this tale many times, but once, he told me to ensure Centauri Prime's 'garden of beauty' should bloom again in the future. I don't think that he was thinking of an _actual_ garden at the time, but he inspired the idea in me – the idea that a garden is a place of peace, beauty, and growth. Without Emperor Mollari, we wouldn't have these beautiful gardens and all the blessings that they have bestowed on us. But he would be very unhappy if I did not recognize all the people who have made these gardens possible. Our scientists worked hard to research the location of the ancient hanging gardens, and everyone worked tirelessly to begin the revival of the original gardens at Lake Challa. That small step has grown into the national treasure we have today, fueled by the work of so many Centauri. Every day, I receive more petitions for new branches of the official gardens. Even the island of Selini has petitioned to have a branch of the gardens now that it has been sufficiently rebuilt. Yes," Vir smiled to his audience, "I think Emperor Mollari would have liked these gardens very much."

Mollari felt his throat closing with emotion and tears burned at his eyes. The child's smile grew as she pulled the hovering bubble of water sideways, the images sliding in closer to the official entrance to the gardens. There, flanked by a large statue gazing over the entrance, a sign was etched in gold scroll, welcoming visitors to the "Emperor Mollari II Memorial Gardens." At the entrance of the gardens, Mollari's statue embodied the wizened emperor who had bore the brunt of his years, but he still guarded watchfully over his people with untold patience and quiet strength as he, at last, enjoyed the sunlight that fed the gardens their life.

Londo could no longer prevent his tears from falling. Vir had not only created something so beautiful, _so poignantly evocative_ of the Centauri Prime he intimately knew and loved in his hearts, but Vir had also restored Mollari's _name_. Rather than the terrible sentiment his name evoked as the Drakh stooge, Vir had reformed his reputation among later generations by conjuring the beauty and majesty of the Memorial Gardens named in his honor. Rather than dark desperation and cruel terror, his name symbolized the work and unity of the Centauri people. He never would have thought such a thing possible – that he would be remembered in any other way than the pawn of the Drakh impotently fighting against their crushing heel. There could have been no greater gift that Vir could give to him than his name, his reputation, and the rebuilding of Centauri Prime, and he let the tears fall because he had no power to stop them. Trying to regain some semblance of control, he wiped them away with his cuff and gazed at the child. " _Thank you_ ," he whispered almost inaudibly, his emotions overwhelming him. " _You cannot know what it means to me_."

And yet, as he looked at her, and she returned his gaze, her own glance at his crest told him that perhaps she did know what such a thing meant. Taking him by surprise, she grasped him in a heartfelt hug that lasted for several moments before she released him with a smile and skipped away toward the fog. Just before she entered the fog, a tall, fierce warrior laden with Xon armor emerged from the fog, bowed to her, glared at Mollari, and followed after the child as they both disappeared into the fog.

Choking down emotion, Mollari swallowed hard, looking at Cassiella. "Who was that?" he managed.

Cassiella smiled, "That was her Guardian. He has been waiting in the fog a very, very long time for his charge. And _he_ has never seen a Centauri emperor before."

Mollari nodded, composing himself, and seeing his Guardian strike off for the fog again, he took one last look at the abandoned fountain before following Cassiella.

After a short while, they arrived at the edge of the fog, and there was an ocean of turbulent water stretching in front of them. Cassiella smiled at last. They had made it out of the Land of the Fog. She turned to him with a note of encouragement. "This is your only opportunity to leave the Land of the Fog. You must cross this river to the far shore," she pointed toward a distant horizon.

Mollari gazed at the raging waters with disbelief in his eyes and trepidation in his bones. He knew that it was a test, but it seemed quite impossible to make the far shore without a vessel. He also sensed that on the other side, the reckoning awaited, and his soul would reach its final destination, a destination that he was not at all eager to see realized. The tempo of his hearts rose, and a sweat broke out on his brow as he considered his options. Although he was ready to end the journey, he wasn't prepared for the suicide of drowning that lay before him. "I wish to stay here," he said, quietly.

"Pa'tazio," Cassiella took his hand, squeezing it in earnest, "There is only one constant in the universe, and that is that everything must change. Even the dead must change – corpses themselves do not remain a static shell. They are eaten away into otherness. That is the true death of the soul – a soul that cannot or will not change. Those who will not cross the river – they are stuck in time, in one place, unchanging, forever. They are within a prison of their own making, be it their own memories or their own fears. Likewise, those who wish for eternal bliss – they do not realize that appreciation comes from deprivation. A constant can never be maintained, forever. You did not appreciate choice until you had none. You appreciated brivari until you had too much. So it is with the universe. You have now seen with your own eyes that it changes, daily.  It lives, like us, through change.  Change is the only constant, and through it is granted life. We cannot imagine a world where there is no change."

"What are you saying?" Londo swallowed his angst, "That I will die if I stay here, in this place?

Cassiella replied with gravity, "One who stays in the Land of Fog withers on the vine because existence without change ceases. But, as always, Pa'tazio, the choice to walk forward is yours and yours alone."

Looking across the raging waves, he said, "It is not much of a choice." He gestured toward the deep waves, "I hate to tell you this, my lady, but I have not been near a body of water in some time, and I would be surprised if I remember how to swim. And, I have to tell you that even though my life was not always an agreeable one, I am still fond of it, and I am not yet ready to see it go."

Cassiella lifted a hand, her palm focused between his hearts, and she directed his rising agitation back to a manageable level. "It is like diving off a cliff. Sometimes you must just leap and trust that the water is deep enough to catch you."

Mollari snorted, "I thought, before, you said that belief was not required."

Cassiella shook her head. "You misunderstand, Pa'tazio. Faith and belief are different things. Belief is knowledge. Faith and trust are hope. Hope is always needed, even if belief is not required."

Mollari stared at the waters again. "This is madness," he mumbled to himself. But a conviction of will propelled him forward, and he stepped into the violent waters, surrendering himself to their care. And he felt himself falling, falling, falling for what seemed like an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty ridiculously happy with the inversion of this chapter title.
> 
> From Chapter 4: "You must" he balled his free hand into a fist, "Rebuild our people, Vir. . . . Ensure that Centauri Prime emerges from the darkness, so that her garden of beauty and power may bloom again in the future. You have the key to craft your own vision of the future for the Centauri Republic. Seize it, and make her future your own. Do not tie your feet to stones, as I have."


	8. Falling Toward Apotheosis

_Well, I looked my demons in the eyes_  
_Lay bare my chest_  
_Said do your best_  
_To destroy me_

 _See, I've been to hell and back_  
_So many times_  
_I must admit_  
_You kinda bore me_

 _There's a lot of things_  
_That can kill a man_  
_There's a lot of ways to die_  
_Yes, and some already did_  
_And walk beside me_

 _–_ Ray LaMontagne, _Empty_

Mollari did not so much open his eyes as the world dissolved into being around him. A turquoise sea stretched before him. The calm azure waters lapped at a sunlit and sandy shoreline, and it was almost impossible to believe that a seascape so tranquil could be connected to the vicious, dark, and jagged one that he had just left.

For the first time, in as long as he could remember, the world around him was bright. It had been _so long_ since he had stood in full sunlight, far before his journey in the Land of the Fog. It had been well before the fusion bombs were set off by the Drakh outside the palace walls because after the bombs were detonated, he couldn't bear to see the destruction and devastation of Centauri Prime except from a window in the palace's throne room. Even before then, he had seen relatively little sunlight since the beginning of his reign, for Shiv'kala had never given him a very long leash, except on rare occasions.

The salty sea breeze cooled the tropical air, giving the perfect balance of warmth without becoming stifling. Whereas Londo felt his energy was constantly being sapped in the Land of Fog, he now felt energy pulsating through him, as if fed by the sunlight. He noticed the sunlight danced through the gold weaved into his jacket, giving it a surreal celestial quality, but it also made the crimson threads throb as if wet blood was still drying upon his cuffs. He wondered if individuals here fed on starlight rather than mortal food. If so, it would explain his weariness and lethargy in the Land of the Fog, and the instant rejuvenation he felt in the presence of starlight.

His thoughts quickly turned from the light to the breathtaking scene in front of him. From the mouth of the tranquil azure sea, a knoll rose before him, and into it was cut the crowded square in which he found himself. Flanking the placid waters, the square climbed toward a towering colosseum made of pale rose travertine, looking both majestic and ominous in its display of power.

As Mollari took in these sights, he was repeatedly jostled by the throng of passerbys, and he was forced to keep a gentle hand on Cassiella, or she would have been carried away in the crowd. He knew, subconsciously, that the colosseum was their destination, and as he expected, Cassiella aimed him toward its cavernous entrance as the throng of people around them darted by.

At last, she took his arm, the crowd having grown even thicker, and she spoke into his ear, barely audible above the throng's din, "It isn't usually quite this crowded." Before he could respond, he saw her eyes seize on something nearby, but she turned to him quickly with an intensity in her gaze and said, "Did you ever consider who the mother of the Angel of the Waters might have been?"

Mollari's brow furrowed as they continued through the crowd, "What do you mean?"

The Guardian tapped his arm, "I suppose the Centauri never questioned where such talented visions might emanate from. True, the Centauri have many telepaths, but the seers in the Centauri are a delicate lineage. Unlike the Xon who had a great talent for such things – except with respect to their own destruction – which does sound a bit like Isranolla, does it not?"

"What are you saying?" Mollari growled, turning toward her at last, "That her mother was a Xon?" As he spoke, he was jostled so hard he almost tumbled to the ground in a collision with a passerby.

Cassiella shrugged, catching him by the arm and trying to maintain his attention. "Some say that it is so, but I cannot say for certain if it is true. Perhaps the nunnery at Lake Challa has greater secrets than you imagine."

Regaining his balance, Mollari's eyes narrowed and hardened for a moment as he tried to judge the truthfulness of her words before his eyes softened again. "After spending all of my dead moments with you, I can recognize your Xon sense of humor now. You are baiting me," he waved off her comment dismissively, though his eyes glanced back at her in a sign of unsureness. Before she could say anything in reply, his eyes wandered back to the profile of the woman who had just accidentally jostled him.

Cassiella had almost succeeded in distracting Mollari from the woman inches from his elbow, but as he cast a sideways glance at the young woman who almost ran into him, Mollari gaped, "Adira? Adira Tyree?" But the woman had not heard him in the rancorous crowd, and she was already moving away.

"Pa'tazio," Cassiella interrupted him, her hands tightening on his jacket, "we must get to the colosseum. . . ."

"I wish to speak to her," he cut off Cassiella's reply firmly, staying her hand upon his cuff. He reached out, grasping Adira's elbow. The motion sent Adira spinning toward him, and he caught her with both hands.

The look of confusion on Adira's face was swept away with recognition when she saw the figure in front of her, "Londo!" a smile lit up her face as she embraced him. "You have finally arrived!"

The look of shock on Londo's face was fleeting as it was replaced with amazement. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "What are you doing in this place?" He saw the old spark of love leap back into her eyes, and he recognized the look of intense affection he knew so well sweep over her face.

Adira glanced from his intent gaze to Cassiella and back again. "You don't know?"

The Guardian had stiffened, her eyes wildly darting between the two, trying to warn Adira, but Adira Tyree mistook the look as the same shock felt by Londo.

"No," Londo stared more intensely at the woman he was grasping with both hands, "I don't know." As he stared intently at her, he noticed that she glanced away from him and back again several times, the passionate look that used to be reserved for him alone was still etched on her face, greeting others just as warmly. He followed her gaze, and noticed passerbys smiling mischievously at her. His eyes narrowed when he noticed that she acknowledged this attention with a flattered and flirtatious smile. "Perhaps," he tried to reclaim her attention, "perhaps we have been apart too long."

She looked back at him, and there it was again, the same sensual look of love she had flashed before. Adira acknowledged his look of confusion with a smile. "You are wondering about them?" she gestured toward the crowd. "You misunderstand, Londo, I haven't lost any of my feelings for you. I still love you very much." Her face brightened as the smile filled it, "Our time together was a gift. It will always be a gift."

Buoyed by her momentary reassurance, her last words struck a cold note in his heart. "I don't understand, what are you saying?"

"As a young man, the loss of your love crushed something in you. We needed you to find that there was love still buried under the stones in your soul, to find that spark of goodness in your hearts again . . . ."

Mollari took a step back, almost running into another person, "We?" His face went rigid with distrust as he recalled Adira's association with Trakis, his spine tingling with fear. "What do you mean, we?"

Adira stroked his sleeves to soothe his agitation, and shook her head with a laugh, "Londo, you must understand that as gods, we serve the universe."

Londo took another faltering step backward, still clutching her. "Gods?" he whispered with disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

Adira glanced back at Cassiella, finally realizing that Mollari really had no idea where he was. It was all a bit much to explain to him, and she was late, very late. "Londo," she touched his cheek with her hand, "I was sent to you, for you, to make you see that you could still love again, that there were things worth fighting for. To give you strength to do what had to be done. I knew - we all knew - that you could only find your strength and the spark of goodness left in you if you could see that your hearts were not dead. And the broad strokes of what was coming had already been written, so I was sent to you as a gift. For you. From the Universe. I lived a lifetime to give you love at the moment you needed it. A memory for you, when you were imprisoned by the Drakh, so that you would have something to hold on to when you had nothing else."

A horrified expression hardened on his face. He could see the perfect memory he had so cherished in the recesses of his hearts cruelly snatched away, and he could feel the memory ball that he had left on the table in the House of Memory being crushed, its shards of glass splaying his mind open with jagged cuts as it shattered.

Adira could tell that her words were bringing him pain, but this was not her intention. She took his hands and squeezed them tightly shaking her head, trying to make him see what had been given to him. "I was sent to you as a dancer in memory of the dancer that stole your hearts when you were a young man – before your family forced you to have the marriage annulled. I came to you so that you could mend the piece of your heart that died when you were separated from her against your will."

Londo's confusion and agitation rose as he tried to ascertain her meaning. "You - you used me?"

"No, Londo," she tried to reassure him, "it wasn't like that at all."

"Adira . . ." he whispered, feeling his hearts sinking through the floor.

She offered him a sentimental smile as she gazed up at him, "I will always be Adira to you, Londo, but we have all had many names, and here, I am called Li."

Mollari visibly staggered again, and this time it was her hands that held him upright. "But Li is the goddess of passion," he muttered, unable to comprehend.

"Yes," her smile grew again as she sighed. "And that is why I am late. I am late for your judgment, as are you." She squeezed his hands with emotion. "Be strong, Londo. You already know that I am on your side. I love you very much." And with that her hands slipped out of his grasp, and she melted into the throng.

His head felt light as Adira disappeared. He put a confused hand to his temples and muttered to himself, "This place, it is crushing me at every turn. Will it not yield?"

Cassiella tried to steady him, but his thoughts were wild. Finally, she gave up trying, and with a frown, she grasped his sleeve and pulled him after her. They wove their way through the crowd to the colosseum steps where there were people lounging.

There, a young gentleman in brocaded silks was running down the steps when he stopped cold in front of Mollari, a mischievous smile spreading on his face. "The Lord of War has returned!" He shook a warning finger at Mollari before continuing his dash toward the square.

Mollari frowned, burgeoning anger in his chest. "Is this some sort of joke?" he asked Cassiella. But she did not reply, and he added under his breath, "I see my reputation precedes me."

Cassiella again pulled him toward the colosseum's entrance where there were people everywhere. Where there were gaps in the crowd, individuals were reclining on the steps, their bodies tangled in sensual touch and licentious activity. The Guardian stepped over a pair intertwined in lust, pulling Mollari after her.

"Who are these people?" Mollari demanded finally, planting his feet.

"Pa'tazio, it is not my place…."

"I don't care," he cut her off curtly, "I don't care if it is your place to tell me or not. Tell me now. Who are these people?"

Cassiella knew she was not meant to discuss these things with him yet, but she could tell he was holding his temper under a very fine tether. She waved at the crowd. "Most of them are wayfaring souls awaiting judgment like you, or they are already on their way to another destination. This place is a crossroads." She pointed back at the colosseum, "In there are your Centauri gods, like Li," she said, a note of disapproval in her voice as she thought of the quarrelsome and tawdry Centauri gods.

Londo's frown grew deeper, "I don't believe in the gods."

"Well," the Guardian said agreeably bobbing her head, "that's a start." She did not explain, however, and Londo's frown grew deeper.

"So I am to be judged by gods that I never offered prayers to and which I do not believe in," he snorted, "I suppose there is some poetic justice in that." Taking one last look at the imposing structure, he bared his canines, "All right, let's just get this over with," he growled. There was little else that could further cripple his mental state than those revelations, and where a proud man once stood, the man who entered his final forum was a broken shell of his former self. Cassiella could feel whatever thread he had been hanging on by had finally snapped. His shoulders sagged, head bowed, and his will dazed by these last blows. Cassiella would have spared him the revelation of Li, for he would need all his remaining strength to bear his final moments before his destruction, but what was done was done, and she could no more rewrite the moment than she could return him to life.

"Pa'tazio," she turned to him, knowing their time together was almost through. "Would you rather have fallen into oblivion at the moment of your death? You have said many times that the Universe hates you but look at the gifts she has sent you. From the moment you fell into unconsciousness, she has provided for you. Every moment has been a gift. I was sent to relieve your sorrow and your fear. The House of Rest offered you your memories. The Angel of the Waters showed you the secrets that so few come to know, and Li, herself, came to you in your lifetime to help guide you out of darkness. Please remember these things."

Londo's eyes were sullen and dead. "I know what comes next."

Cassiella could see that Londo was still the same man who had given prophecies absolute power over his life. He could not see beyond his beliefs even though belief did not create knowledge. Perhaps that was why he had been chosen in the first place. She pitied the beliefs that he carried with him, beliefs that caused him more pain than necessary, but she had also grown to respect him over the course of their journey together. He seemed determined to face his final trial with a conviction she had never encountered in other souls. She could feel the overwhelming fear seizing his soul, but he quelled it himself with an unbridled determination. So, at last, she slipped her hand into his and tried to imbue him with the unseen strength needed to match his outward willpower and to help him manage his final steps.

They ascended the steps until the final arena lay before them, an arena stretching into the sky and filled with observers and gods, a pantheon awaiting his final judgment. Londo turned to Cassiella and took her hands in his own. "This final walk is mine alone," he smiled grimly at her. "You have given me some respite from this journey." Then his face genuinely warmed with memories, "Do you not remember the night I enticed you to succumb to the delicacies of brivari?" He chuckled, "Yes, it has been a long path. You have served admirably, and I know that for myself, I find something between us other than duty. I admit that in the past, I have been guilty of writing off your race, and if you are a representative of your people, I deeply regret such thoughts now."

Cassiella's normally guarded face brightened, "Every journey is an honor, Pa'tazio, but you have treated me with respect even after learning my origins, a fact I have shared with no other Centauri. I know that you carry shame for what you did in the past, but what you have become is a man I wish our people had the chance to know.

Mollari nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Cassiella." He thought back to the visions she had sent him that night in the House of Memory and he recalled the traditional Xon goodbye, " _Go Well_ , Cassiella."

The Guardian held back her own wave of emotion as she returned it, " _Stay well_ , Pa'tazio."

As Mollari strode into the arena, his posture straightened into the façade of courage that he had been taught since a young boy. Around him, the Centauri pantheon of gods waited his arrival.

At the center of the colosseum's far wall, a blinded god towered over the arena, and he sat in a box of honor with a full view of the proceedings, but it was a view he alone could not make use of. It was the God of Justice, whose eyes had been plucked out to deliver justice without favoritism, his hollow and weeping eye sockets exposed. The god waved for silence from the crowd. "Londo Mollari," his voice boomed, "you will submit to our judgment."

Mollari inclined his head without dropping his eyes in acknowledgement of the judgement.

The God of Justice narrowed the muscles around his eyes, a malicious curl to his lips as he asked, "Who shall speak against this man?"

Mollari felt the rise of millions of hands, lifting in darkness. He knew that he had to _endure_ this, that it was the price extracted for his decisions, decisions that he alone had made. The face, voice, and story of each Narn killed on Quadrant 14 appeared in testimony against him. As the parade of testimony continued, his head bowed lower and lower in shame, hearing the story of each and every life lost in his complicity with the Shadows. And when the recounting of the slaughter at Quadrant 14 was done, the faces of those massacred by the use of mass drivers against Narn appeared. Even the stories of the children were told in the faces they would have become: what they would have done, what they would have become, what they had been denied by his actions and his complicity in the actions of others. When Mollari could bear no more, he closed his eyes, but closing his eyes was no barrier for the testimony against him because now the images came searing directly into his mind telling the stories that his crimes had woven.

After the dead Narn testified, then came the Centauri, some of them known to him personally, others that he had never met. The parade of figures included the Centauri killed by the Alliance bombings, events which would have never happened if he had not brought the darkness to Centauri Prime, the Centauri killed on the island of Santorini when he destroyed the Shadow vessels, and the Centauri who died in the fusion bomb explosions when he had unwisely called the bluff of the Drakh.

"And what of me?" A god from the audience rose, hurling his words like epitaphs toward Mollari. "I too wish to testify against this man," the god rose, appearing to grow larger with anger. His eyes blazed with fire, a crazed smile sweeping his features. "You thought you could deny me godhood, but here I am. We will burn you, Mollari. We will burn you in fire," his demented laugh filled the colosseum.

Mollari's eyes narrowed at the sight of Cartagia. _Cartagia_ was a god. The god of insanity – what else could he be? Though his chest burned with shame for the innocent, especially the children, the sight of Cartagia elicited no regret from him. Nor for Refa. Nor for others who had cast their own lots in darkness.

As for the others, Mollari had nightmares of the things he had done so many times during his life that they no longer elicited tears. He had revisited these things time and time again, and they had almost lost their power over him. And although he was deeply ashamed of every innocent life lost on his account, the shame had sliced open his soul long ago, and he had walked with these demons too many times to count.

It took an eternity for all of these beings to say their names and tell their stories, for there were so many. They were overwhelming in their quantity and the sorrow that they conveyed. And Mollari stood like a rock in the center of the arena, silent and unmoving, allowing the wave of each new person's testimony to break over him.

When the last person had spoken and the image faded away, the din of the gods and the crowd rose in anger crying for his blood. The God of Justice contemplated the crowd for a few moments before waving for silence again, and the noise died into silence. "And who," he paused listening, "who shall speak _for_ this man?" His attention seemed to focus on Mollari, awaiting words from the condemned himself.

But the actions of the past had already claimed Mollari's soul, so he would not wail or plead or beg. He had already accepted these things. The torment these stains had caused upon his soul over time had turned into a ceaseless black and burning ache. He stated only, "These things I have done. I might have stopped them, but I did not. I might have saved these people, but I did not." He gritted his teeth, forcing each word, "I am sorry that I have been the cause of these things, but I accept that these were my decisions, and I accept what will now come."

The God of Justice extended his palm, calling for the vote of the pantheon. The vote was cast, and it was overwhelmingly in favor of Mollari's destruction. He would not be allowed to continue on, to experience this reality, a higher and more complex reality in the infinite possibilities of realities created by the Universe. He would be burned in fire and dissolved into nothingness. Preparing to address the condemned with his sentence, the God of Justice rose to his feet, but he was interrupted by the commanding sound of a new voice.

"I will speak for this man," a lone voice rang out from the colosseum's entrance as a figure dressed in pale blue and gold strode across the colosseum floor.

At first Mollari did not recognize the figure, so different did he look from every other time he had seen the Narn. But, indeed, it was G'Kar in the pale blue striding toward him. "What are you doing here?" Mollari whispered in disbelief as G'Kar clapped him amicably on the shoulder.

"You did not think I would leave you to these wolves, did you?" G'Kar laughed. "I told you before, Mollari, that I was looking out for your body and your soul. We Narn do not vacillate like a Centauri choosing mistresses."

Londo could not cover the shock on his face. "I would prefer not to have a friend witness the execution of my soul," he replied, softly.

G'Kar surveyed the angry horde of the colosseum. "Which just goes to show our differences, as I would prefer a fellow warrior stand with me as I greet the end. Besides, you are always driving toward a predetermined destination. What if your future here is unwritten?"

"It has been written. They have already voted," Londo replied, but he was silenced by the voice of the God of Justice.

"Very well," the God of Justice's voice rang out, "The Lord of Peace may speak for this man."

Seeing Mollari's expression growing more shocked, G'Kar said softly, "You will understand soon enough." Turning to the crowd before him, G'Kar inhaled deeply. Here, at the feet of an unruly Centauri mob, he felt perfectly in his element. It was the challenge of such a sight that inspired a smile to catch the corner of his mouth, and the thought that only the Centauri could empower a pantheon of gods such as this rippled through his mind.

G'Kar saluted the pantheon before purposefully walking in front of Mollari, commanding the attention of the colosseum with his words which started softly, forcing the entirety of the pantheon to lean closer in their seats to hear him. "You have seen the death and destruction that Mollari has wrought, and you have asked what souls will stand for him, but how can souls that are still alive testify here? There are many souls that are yet alive because of him. Consider that he refused to capitulate to the Drakh, and whereas some souls were killed by their fusion bombs, he preserved far more souls who would have died by the fusion bombs which were never detonated. For this, he gave almost two decades of his life. Two decades he lived in solitary confinement to save those souls that yet live.

"Indeed, he gave his own life, willingly, to spare the Alliance leaders and their son, David Sheridan, in both friendship and in the hope that they could save Centauri Prime. He saved the life of myself and Vir Cotto on more than one occasion. He raised the daughter of his enemy, Lord Refa, as his own, and he protected the children of Lord Urza Jaddo within his own House after Jaddo sought a duel and forced Mollari to kill him. He saved a young seer from a terrible life separated from her love before she was to be inducted as Prophetess Supreme at Tuwain, and she yet enjoys wedded life because of his actions. Even here, he has allowed his pride to be crushed to save the Angel of the Waters, who cannot speak because she has no tongue. And none of these souls can speak for him. Nor, as you have seen, will he speak for himself."

G'Kar's voice rose, booming through the colosseum. "Mollari is not a perfect man," G'Kar shook his head in emphasis, "in fact, I will be the first to tell you of his many, many misdeeds, but you have seen them all laid bare for you here, so let me tell you then that is not the end of the story. You do not judge a man merely by his misdeeds. You judge him as the culmination of his actions and for the responsibility he expresses."

"What we do not see when we are born into the fragile shells that hold our souls is that Fate prescribes and we comply. In our compliance, some would shout that we have no choice, but it is the mystery of the universe that we have free choice and no choice at all. We bend toward the arc prescribed by the universe, and yet each of the choices we make is distinctly our own. And you have just heard Mollari take full responsibility for his actions, actions that were part of a much larger script commanded by the universe.

G'Kar surveyed the crowd before continuing, "I believe that the man who stands before you is altogether a different person that the one I met so long ago on Babylon 5. They are hardly similar, except that they carry the same name. And it is the same with myself. I too was once locked in anger and despair. And I also did terrible things which I can never take back. But I, too, have changed. I have the memories of the man I used to be, but I am no longer that man, and I believe we are both the better for it. Who could have the stoutest heart but he who has actually been tested in battle? Who could have the most empathetic heart but he who has suffered greatly and lost greatly? Who has the ear of the Universe but he who has endured all she has to offer?

"If there is anyone here who can understand the ramifications and the gravity and the wretchedness of what Mollari has done in his lifetime, it is Mollari himself. You can take nothing more from him than he has already taken from himself; you can cut him no deeper than he has cut himself over these things. I know because I have seen this change in him. And I recognize this change because I have seen it in myself. There is not one here who can say Mollari has not done penance for his misdeeds."

G'Kar's words took on a harsher tone as he raised a scolding finger at the pantheon of Centauri gods. "And you _know_ that you cannot judge him on past deeds. And yet, _you have done so_. Mollari cannot reach back in time and change these acts; no man can. So, you are required to judge him on the man that he became, the man before you now. Because you know that there is only one law of the Universe – that nothing is written in stone, that change is life, that transformation is the fire in which we burn. That is why you judge a man not on a moment in time but on the sum of his parts. Did he learn and grow and repent? Or was he static, stuck in hatred and anger? Even the Universe herself, this magical creature of infinite beauty and infinite possibilities that we call home, she too changes. She _craves_ change. She _needs_ change. It is her life blood. And since we are all servants to the same Universe, so we must all change. To do otherwise is death. Our bodily shell changes, shedding its skin from day-to-day, always renewing itself. The person we were as a child is not the same as the old man who has lived a lifetime. Everything that we do in life is eventually unwritten as galaxies collapse and then expand again.

"You _know_ it unjust to judge a man in a vacuum. That is why you are here delivering his judgment – because the Universe has prescribed that a Pak'mara is not judged by Centauri standards, nor a Narn by Drazi standards. Because of the great differences in the Universe, as members of his own race, you are in the best position to understand his challenges and his struggles.

"Mollari has stripped bare his soul for you. He has lost everything he cherishes. He clings to one great love, his love of country and his empire, but who does not find beauty and patriotism in these things? This is no crime, to love your country deeply and to be willing to sacrifice for it. And I think, even he – _now_ \- might say that some things are more important than country, such as the _spirit within_ the country, which can be shackled and trod upon when a country spirals into darkness. But it is the spirit of its citizens that is even more important than the country or the empire itself, for _that_ can be reborn in a new age, a new country, a new empire," G'Kar finally glanced back at Mollari who remained silent, "Yes, I think he would agree with me on these things." He looked back to the crowd, who he had spellbound in silence.

The God of Justice finally the broke the silence quietly, "The vote has already been cast." The god beckoned Mollari to come closer, and as Londo moved forward, G'Kar placed a hand on his chest, stopping Londo's forward motion, while his eyes glittered toward the God of Justice.

"Perhaps, then, you do not remember the bet that the Lord of War and the Lord of Peace made before being sent to live these lifetimes by the Universe?" He gestured toward Mollari, "He does not remember, for his memories of his past lifetimes have not yet been restored to him - the memories that are bound to his higher soul – the soul that belongs to the Universe as the Lord of War whose coming foretold the age of conflict that he just lived and who also belongs to this pantheon as the Centauri God of War.

He does not know why he does not consider you gods, but it is because he, himself, is a god. Godhood means little to him because his higher soul knows that being demarcated a god does not entitle you to the divine qualities that are attributed to you by your worshippers. In truth, you are merely celestial beings that live in a different space, a different dimension, and you are charged with looking after the Centauri. Souls here progress from a world of three dimensions to a world of four dimensions, and as souls progress toward the infinite complexity offered by our Universe, this is merely another stop. With each rung, they gain greater clarity and understanding of the beauty of the Universe in which they live. You are mere servants of this Universe who happened to be blessed with living in a higher dimension than the one before. Like a circle living in a 2-dimensional space could never understand what it means to be a cylinder, so in life we cannot understand the greater and infinite offerings of this Universe except in the smallest glimpses. In the 3-dimensional world, technomages and seers have access to portions of these hidden plains of understanding, but here, in this place of greater understanding, these things are mere daily realities in which you live. So the word "god" can have little meaning to someone who understands that a god is itself a servant to the Universe." You are not divinely infallible. You, yourselves, come and go. And one day, this pantheon will be a memory, and something else will take its place."

G'Kar narrowed his eyes, his annoyance with the Centauri gods rising. "You may remember that the agents of change of the Universe, the Lord of Peace and the Lord of War who are forever bound in their opposing natures – because war and peace live on the same continuum – made a bet between themselves, sanctioned by the Universe and by this pantheon. They have been locked in an ongoing struggle as part of the continuum between conflict and resolution that they represent, but they decided to reverse their roles: one, the bringer of conflict and blood and war would become a diplomat. The other, the bringer of resolution and peace would become a warrior. Whosoever lost the bet would be penalized with destruction – reduced to nothingness. And the victor would be granted any wish within possibility by the Universe. But over time, born into new bodies lived in the dimension below, their memories taken from them, the Lord of Peace and the Lord of War each reverted back to their true natures."

The God of Justice boomed, "We _know_ of the bet that was made. And we proclaim that the Lord of War has lost this bet because the vote has been cast against him. Under the terms of the bet, the Lord of Peace is granted a wish of his choosing."

G'Kar felt the soft breeze on his face, content with his decision. "I wish that the Lord of War had won the bet."

Mollari, trying to follow these revelations immediately understood G'Kar's meaning. Spinning G'Kar by his shoulder, Mollari grasped G'Kar's collar in his fists, "No," he cried. "This is my punishment! You will not take this for me."

G'Kar shook his head, "Mollari, I do not take this thing lightly. I do not do it for justice or injustice or good or bad or light or dark but because change is life. Because we are all One, living in an eternal struggle, the sacrifice will not be in vain. Our celestial souls have been locked in struggle for so long, and now one of them will be freed."

"I do not care what bet someone made in a past lifetime. It was not me! I have no memoires of these things, and I will not be bound by them. I will not allow this," Mollari released G'Kar from his grasp as he could feel the God of Justice rising, ready to inflict the judgment on G'Kar. He spun on his heel, his eyes wild, "No," he threw a hand up to stop at the God of Justice. He could feel his chest heaving, his thoughts wild, but his mind did not abandon him. "Wait," he commanded the god, "wait. He said – he said that I _won_ the bet. So," he swallowed hard, "that means that if I _won_ , then the spoils of the bet are mine, and," he raised his head with satisfaction, "the wish is granted to me."

At this, chaos erupted in the pantheon, and the crowd roared, some nodding in agreement and others shaking their heads in disapproval. The God of Justice sighed, "We will take the matter under advisement," and he turned in his seat toward the other gods.

Now, it was G'Kar's turn to face Mollari with trepidation in his eyes. "Mollari," he growled a warning.

"Don't worry," Londo patted him on the opposite shoulder as his own chest heaved, "I will recognize you in every lifetime, hmm?" He shook his head with a smile. "Let me take care of this. You have done enough. In this lifetime and the last."

"Mollari!" G'Kar's voice became firmer, yet it had a plaintive edge to it.

The God of Justice silenced the crowd again. "Very well, we have agreed that the wish is yours to do with as you choose."

Mollari bared his canines, as his eyes hardened, and he took a breath at last. Nodding in grim satisfaction, he said, "Where I go, he goes."

The God of Justice rocked back in his chair again, sighing and listening to the cries in the crowd until they died down. Extending both arms the God of Justice turned his palms upward, "Very well, it shall be arranged. As a result of these events, we adjudge your terrestrial soul to have atoned for its sins. We grant the request that it be granted the memories of its celestial soul rather than destroyed, and we instruct the Centauri God of War to return to our ranks. In his dual role as the agent of change, he shall also return to the service of the Universe as its Lord of War." And with that, the God of Justice reached out his hands, and past lifetimes of memories were sent with dizzying speed to Mollari's mind. He clutched at his brain as the memories streamed in and he could not stop them, memories that were not his but were also now part of him. In that moment, the long journey that had slowly crushed his spirit and shattered his every belief coupled with the flood of new memories destroyed the old Londo Mollari, but not in the way that he had always imagined, for he continued to exist, reborn as the Lord of War.

As he struggled inside his own mind to accommodate the memories that were not his but which overwhelmed him, suddenly he saw a vast figure striding toward him in the center of the colosseum. Glancing around him, no one else appeared to see this apparition of a magnificent and imposing goddess. Sand was drawn to the front of her, crystalizing her figure as she moved through it and dissolving behind her, and in every instant she seemed to be recreated. He saw that as she directed her attention and stretched out a hand toward him, the colosseum faded away and a tunnel formed around them, leaving them as the only beings in existence.

"Great Maker," he whispered.

"Yes," she agreed. "Londo Mollari, you have been throwing stones at me." A voice was cast into his mind, and he understood that the Universe had come to speak with him, a vision that had never been granted to his celestial soul in any other life. "But this life was a difficult one. I could feel you losing your way. You have been worshipping at the altar of Centauri Prime, so I have come to show you your way again. And to grant you this last gift." And with that, the Universe extended a hand, and Mollari fell to his knees as his mind was filled with a glimpse into the infinite varieties and infinite beauty of the Universe. The vision was granted only for the fraction of a moment. Any more and his fragile shell would not have survived. In that instant of perfect clarity, he understood that his reality was only one of many realities, one of many dimensions that she had to offer. So change and growth were possible in infinite varieties, far more complex than either the Shadows or the Vorlons had thought possible in their quest for progress through chaos and order. And their craving for progress did not comport with the Universe's requirements for eternal change, for the very memory of those who wished to have their names remembered on gravestones or their deeds written in books would each be destroyed as the Universe ordered entire galaxies destroyed and reborn again. Nothing could be maintained in the face of this unending change, sometimes embodied in progress and sometimes in regression. On his knees before the vision and the beauty of the Universe, tears stung his cheeks as he experienced the wonders of the Universe in the fraction of an instant.

"Now," she said, beckoning him to rise. "I have asked many things of your celestial soul over many lifetimes, and even I doubted your celestial soul when it choose you, Londo Mollari, as its host. But you have surprised even me with your capacity for change. You know what was asked of you in this lifetime and now you are aware of what has been asked of your celestial soul in past lifetimes, and I will ask you, one day, to do even more difficult things. Are you willing?"

Mollari thought of all that he had been through – the pain and hurt and humiliation of his life, but it paled in comparison to the overwhelming beauty and knowledge she had given him for the briefest of moments, and he knew she was calling him to her service. "Great Maker, I would do it all again, for you," he responded softly.

Knowing she had bent his ceaseless energy from Centauri Prime to her service, he felt her smile, "You have gained more knowledge in this past lifetime than in all the other lifetimes I have sent your celestial soul to be my agent of change. You have learned much about virtue and justice and that change may come from events other than blood – and this is a knowledge you have never before appreciated. It arises from your failures, rather than your successes, and you have earned the respect you now receive. I believe this is a result of the contribution of your terrestrial soul. In recognition of this, I release your celestial soul to another dimension, another place of greater understanding, and I elevate you to the celestial soul's place. Its memories will remain with you, but you shall now be my agent of change."

The Universe addressed him one last time. "I require your service, my Lord of War, and I will send your new assignment soon. In deference to the bet that you have won, the Lord of Peace will be called to my service in the same capacity at the same moment. Be prepared at my call." The personification of the Universe dissolved away, leaving him again in the crowded colosseum, as if he had never left. Now, studying his garments, he understood their meaning and their burden now caused him less pain, but he also understood the heavy mantle they symbolized, for he would always be called to cause conflict to grant life, and lives would often be lost in service to this cause, making his role an unendingly bitter and sorrowful one.

Mollari blinked as he tried to process all that had just happened. G'Kar's hand on his should shook him from his thoughts. "Mollari," came the voice he knew so well. "Is she not divine?"

Londo looked at G'Kar with confusion. "Did you see her too?"

G'Kar nodded once, "She can hold more than one conversation at a time." He looked at the colosseum, "Have you noticed that women play an important role in your afterlife? It is interesting, is it not, for such a patriarchal society?"

Londo snorted, "The irony is not lost on me. But tell me - what happened to you?"

G'Kar gave his most passive expression, "You wish to know what I spoke of with the Universe? We spoke of the perfection of unequal sacrifices – that sometimes one must give more than another because that is what is both needed and required. We spoke of how consciousness may be split into many pieces such as here in the Centauri pantheon or maintained in oneness as in the celestial beings of other worlds. We spoke of infinite possibility and infinite plains of understanding. We spoke of how there are times of gods and times of men, and we have just left a time of gods, so we must not be surprised to see many gods that we recognize. We spoke of life and death and of all that lies between it. What did you speak of?"

Mollari grinned, "Nothing quite like that. It is a strange thing. I think that the Universe, herself, was jealous of my love for Centauri Prime. She does not believe that I can love more than one woman equally," Mollari shook his head, "So she showed me my foolishness in loving a creation more than its creator. And somehow, she let me know that failure does not condemn a man – it is what we do with the failure that matters. It seems she thinks little of a perfect man, for life is lived in trials, sacrifice, and failure, and what one does with these things are the meaning of life itself." A wistful look in his eye, Mollari asked, "Beyond your conversation with the Universe – what happened when you died?"

G'Kar shook his head, waving a gauntleted hand, "It is a very long story, Mollari, as I sure yours is as well. I will tell it to you when there is time. I imagine it was quite different from your own. I spent a great deal of time with G'Quan – he is moving on to the next place, and I am to take his place here. I also learned of the truths of many other Narn prophets that I disregarded in life. But, this is a story for another day. Now, I know that this experience has been a lot for you to take in as was mine for me, but there is something we _must yet do_."

Mollari frowned, "What is it?"

G'Kar's face grew serious. "You have seen the crowd outside – there are far more souls than should be here. The photo of you and I, fallen at each other's feet, has flown to every corner of the galaxy far faster than the Drakh explanation that should accompany it. Narn and Centauri souls are arriving here in a misunderstanding of what happened between us. You are the only one who has the ability to stop it. You must succeed, for there is no other choice to save these souls."

Mollari was exhausted from his trials, but he could see the urgency and seriousness in G'Kar's face. "I will try, G'Kar. But I don't understand – why me?"

G'Kar studied Mollari for a moment before responding, "Centuries ago, the Universe dictated that gods should no longer walk among men as themselves unless they lived an entire life with them. But as a Centauri emperor, you are granted an exception."

"What exception?" Londo's tone belayed his disbelief.

"Timov," G'Kar responded simply.

Mollari's face paled as he realized to what G'Kar was referring. "Well, no pressure then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story stems from a line in “The War Prayer” where Mollari says “These are my three wives: Pestilence, Famine, and Death.” Pestilence, famine, and death are three of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse. Mollari’s quote implies that he is the 4th Horseman of the Apocalypse: War, who rides a red horse symbolic of blood. And this is the prompt I used to write the story.
> 
> The idea of multiple dimensions beyond our comprehension is an idea that stems not only from physics but is described in beautiful detail in the play “Flatland” by Edwin A. Abbott. The reference to a circle being unable to comprehend a cylinder is an idea generally taken from this play which tries to capture the idea of how we can’t comprehend dimensions greater than that in which we live.
> 
> The idea of the only constant in life being constant change stems from the Pre-Socratic philosopher, Heraclitus, who said: “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for ever newer waters are flowing and he is not the same man.”
> 
> The "Go Well" / "Stay Well" is actually a traditional Xhosa farewell, and I lifted it from them.


	9. Savor These Moments, for They Shall Not Last

_Outside the rain is tapping_  
_On the leaves_  
_To me it sounds like_  
_They're applauding us_  
_The quiet love_  
_We've made_

– Ray LaMontagne, _Empty_

The room was bright, facing two evening suns that illuminated pale, white fanbell flowers that crawled along the room's window sills. The light was diffused by sheer curtains, with thick golden curtains draped lavishly at the sides. The room looked over a refined garden that surrounded a shallow reflecting pool which teamed with tiny dagger fish and lilies. The bright room was most decidedly not entirely of Centauri design, but it had elegant flourishes, appropriate to an empress-in-exile's station.

Timov was tucked into a gilded golden bed laced with soft, off-white covers. At first, Londo did not even see her pallid body lying on the far side of the bed. She was paler than she had ever been, her face lined with time but somehow just as beautiful. The cream sheets seemed warmer to his eye than her ashen skin, and his thoughts were confirmed when he brushed her sleeping hand with his fingertips and found it cool to the touch.  Though he did not know it, fever and chills had alternatively been taking their toll on her body, and this was only the latest round in the ongoing battle.

She felt his touch but did not respond until she detected the faint notes of argan oil and aftershave. As the familiar aroma stimulated her senses, her eyelids cracked - but only barely - and the eyes peering out were dull and weary. The extended illness had eaten away at her, and she was gaunt, a mere shell of the woman he had seen on the screen a year before. Even though she appeared to have little energy, she murmured facetiously, "Well, you look like death incarnate."

He caught her hand in his, electricity rippling through his touch, and he knelt down on one knee next to her bed to hear her words. _She was the same Timov, all right._ He knew that he would need to summon all of his charms to woo her, and even then, he was not sure he could overcome her ire. "And you look magnificent," his brow furrowed as he noted how desperately ill she had become. Her illness had clearly entered the terminal stage, and he did not dare touch her anywhere else, for she appeared to be in great pain. After their last conversation, while he was still alive, he had his palace staff look into her case, and the reports had shown that she was suffering from a fatal bone and organ illness which was excruciatingly painful. She had refused standard pain treatment protocols and minor interventions that might have lengthened her lift span, preferring to enjoy her last moments untempered by medication.

"And you have gotten worse at lying," she replied almost inaudibly. After a few moment, her eyes opened again, their blue marble regarding him with exhaustion and curiosity. "Why have you come?"

"Well," he patted her hand, "to tell you the truth, I knew that you would be pleased by the sight of an emperor on his knees before you. Do you remember what you told me? You told me that you would forgive me if I came to you on bended knee."

She managed a weak smile, "That is not what I said – I said I did not think I could forgive you _even if_ you came to me on bended knee." She pulled his arm closer, interlacing their fingers as she rolled onto her side toward him, her head resting against his chest. Her intimate motion took his breath away. She added, "And anyway, you are another hallucination."

 _Another hallucination._ He grunted in reaction, realizing that she thought that she was dreaming and that their exchange was a figment of her imagination. It was likely why she hadn't thrown him out on his heels already. "Was that what you said? Surely you _meant_ you would forgive me, but I'm not sure I will ever get the last word with you, my dove. Is a dream better than nothing?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "If you have come, then I know that you will also go."

Seeing her shiver, he tucked his free arm very gently around her in an uneven embrace. "I will stay as long as I can."

"Until your knee gives out," she closed her eyes again, wearily.

He chuckled softly, "Yes, until my knee gives out." Her condition tore at his heart. A ripple of electricity flashed in his chest as he gazed at her with sadness in his hearts.

Timov's voice was slow and struggling. "For all your faults, Londo Mollari, you are a hopeless romantic."

He felt another stab of emotion seer his chest. The raw anger he had faced the last time he had spoken with Timov was oddly absent, likely because she thought he was a fabrication of her subconscious, and he would do his best to do right by her this time. "Timov, I've come to tell you some things, and I know you are weary, so you will rest your eyes, and I will talk. All right?"

He discerned a slight nod, but after a moment she forced a reply from her lips, "It seems as if I have been unable to rest for days, and your incessant chatter has always put me to sleep, so you will be doing me a favor."

"Timov, I – I want to tell you that…" he gritted his teeth, forcing the next words from his mouth but pacing them slowly and whispering them softly for her weary ears, "I'm _sorry_." He let the word linger for several moments before continuing, and he saw her blue eyes crack open again and gaze at him thickly. "I do not want to lose you. Even now, when it is already too late, and I have already lost you, still . . . I find that I still do not want to lose you. I am not a man used to begging for anything, but I am begging now for your forgiveness. I have nothing to offer you but these words, and I wish that I could do more to _show_ you."

He gathered his nerves and continued, "I am sorry not for _why_ I sent you from the palace but for _how_. When we were first married, it was a marriage of convenience, and I lived my life, and you lived yours. But still, I did not appreciate you as I should have." He paused searching for the right words, "But you gained my respect when you selflessly saved my life on Babylon 5. And," he exhaled a big breath, trying to inhale courage, "when you came to the palace…after a time, I found that I wanted no one else by my side. You were everything an emperor could ask for – candid, devoted, and shrewd. I have never fallen in love with a woman was my equal."

He felt Timov stirring, though her eyes had drifted closed again. "Equal, Londo? You think quite highly of yourself these days," but there was little sting behind the words.

Londo caressed her small hand with his own, "I mean, a woman not devoted _solely_ to my demise or to the advancement of her own stature at the cost of my own. A woman who - had she been born a man - would have risen to great heights in the Empire. A woman with equal parts wit, humor, and intelligence. A woman with principles that even I could not break."

"That's not fair," her voice was getting weaker, and he leaned even closer to hear her. "You don't have any principles _to_ break. And besides, I wasn't aware that being Empress of the Republic was having failed to rise to great heights."

A smile began in his eyes and spread to the corners of his mouths. _This_ was the Timov he knew so well. Her barbs were light and reassuring because the lightness with which she replied signaled a rapprochement in their relations. Unlike their last conversation, her sparring was not meant to sear him with anger but rather to parry him with her wit as she had done in their years at the palace. "My dove, I found myself waiting in anticipation for our evenings together at the palace." He studied her drawn face and her closed eyes for a moment before continuing. "When I realized that I loved you, after all these years, I also realized that you were not safe from prying eyes and…." He paused, unable to continue.

Timov's eyes cracked open again, and she felt her stomach churn over the dull pain racking her body. Not once, not in all these years, had he said he loved her - or been terribly frank with her. She swallowed back emotion and closed her eyes again. _It seemed so real_.

He continued, his voice ragged, "They would have used you, Timov, to get to me. It is a long story, and I will tell it to you when you are feeling better, but there were forces at play that I could not tell you about, and I could not protect you from them in the palace. It was a double-edged sword, you see, becoming emperor. It brought you to me in a way that we never had before, and then, because of it, I had to send you away for your safety. I want you to know that I have missed you every day since…since I sent you away. In another life, I think that…" he smiled wistfully, "perhaps we would have had a better ending. In this life, I can only ask for your forgiveness."

"Undeserved," Timov replied, almost half-heartedly.

Mollari sighed. "As you like. Undeserved forgiveness."

Timov sighed, her eyes sagging again. At least in her dreams, Londo was capable of learning, even in his old age. Those years at the palace had not been unpleasant, but she thought back on that night that she had yearned to give herself, fully, to him. A night which had ended with the guards unceremoniously pulling her from his bed under the accusation that she had plotted against him. She had been banished, with the only mercy that she would not go to trial and suffer death for her supposed treason. If only Londo had been able to say this to her years ago, it would have made all the difference.

Hearing shuffling near the door to Timov's bedroom, Londo pushed himself off his knee at last, retreating to the corner of the room and glancing out through the shear curtains at the lush garden stretching beyond her windows. Timov narrowed her eyes, trying to focus them. The light beams seemed somehow drawn to him, illuminating him there. As Londo's eyes scanned the courtyard, a young female nurse entered Timov's room behind him, a paper under her arm. "Good morning, your Majesty," the nurse addressed Timov with a curtsy. She seemed to want to say something more, but busily straightened the room, trying to avoid it.

"Good morning, Luccia," Timov replied in a quiet and tired voice.

Londo clasped his hands behind his back and turned around again to watch the nurse, but as soon as he turned, he locked eyes with Timov from across the room.

"Your Majesty," the nurse stammered, "I have very sad news to report." She fidgeted some more, noticing the Empress appeared to be staring out the window. The young nurse gulped, laying the paper next to Timov, her hands shaking. "His Majesty, the Emperor passed away today. It's all over ISN, I'm afraid," she said quietly, expecting a reaction of some kind.

Timov heard the words in a vacuum, her eyes still locked with Londo's. She nodded slowly as her eyes widened, "I see."

The nurse asked apprehensively, "Do you wish me to leave you or stay with you, Your Majesty?"

Timov hadn't moved, her eyes intensely burning as she tried to keep the emotion from her voice, "You may go."

"With your leave," the nurse curtsied again, pulling the door shut behind her.

Londo finally broke Timov's intense stare as he watched the nurse cross in front him and depart through the door on the other side of the room. He closed the gap to Timov with long strides, his hands still clasped behind his back.

In anguish, Timov pushed herself up on her elbows, shock and tears in her eyes. When Londo reached her side, he pulled the closest chair to her bedside so that he could be at her eye level, but when he took her hand, he found that she was trembling. "Londo?" she asked. "Is this a dream?"

"No," he replied softly. "We are both living on borrowed moments, it seems."

"I don't understand," she pensively touched his hand, his arm, his chest, as if to test that he was really there. Her fingers lingered on his jacket, as she registered at last that his jacket was colored with gold and scarlet instead of the imperial white he had worn for 16 years. The white had never suited him, and somehow the scarlet seemed more fitting, especially this jacket which had cuffs and lapels embellished with twisting braid, reminiscent of ancient Centauri generals and emperors on the field of battle.

He drew her hand to him and kissed it gently, "You are the Empress Dowager now."

Timov gasped in shock, but she did not pull her hand away from him. In Centauri culture, an empress dowager had the duty and the right to speak for the departed emperor, and it was said that an empress dowager had not only the right but the _actual ability_ to speak with the emperor in the afterlife. Although some Centauri did not believe she could _actually_ speak to him, her voice was treated as if was the word of the deceased emperor himself. As such, an empress dowager received the highest respect of the Centauri people, her word second only to a newly crowned emperor, and often, as the matriarch of the entire Centauri Republic, she commanded the love of the people to a greater degree than even the new emperor, himself. Lady Morella had been the last empress dowager, as Cartagia had taken no official wives, although he had fathered several illegitimate children. And now, she realized why it was that it seemed she was in a dream, but it was no dream at all. "Londo?" she sat up in haste, ignoring the spasms of pain that resulted, and threw her arms toward him, and he leapt out of his chair to catch her embrace. As he held her, he could feel her sobs and the tears rolling down her cheeks that buried themselves in his coat.

After a few minutes, Timov pulled back to look at Londo for a moment, her eyes dimming with hesitation. "Are you here to say those things to me or are you here because I am the only one who can speak for you now?"

Londo knew he had to carefully answer this question, otherwise he would undermine all of his efforts with an ill-placed word. "Timov," he drew her hands into his. "I have wanted to say those things to you for ten very long years. I wanted to apologize for all of the things that I did to you. I sent you away for your protection but that was not what I wanted. I wanted to tell you _why_ I did these things. I tried when we last spoke, but I could not find the words. It was a case of being reduced to inaction by shame. And, it seems that when it comes to you, I am…weaker than I would like."

Timov reached out and placed a hand between gently between Londo's hearts. She wasn't sure if it would feel hollow and cold or if she would feel nothing at all, but to her surprise, she could feel his dual hearts beating with intensity. Their quickness confirmed the anxiety and agitation she sensed from him. She hadn't decided until this moment whether it was cruelty or kindheartedness that hadn't led him to divorce her during the last decade, leaving her with a title and its benefits but none of its uses. She realized now that it was neither of these but something different altogether. He had reiterated that banishment was not his wish, but he had judged it his obligation for her protection. Why men felt this patriarchal burden to protect their women from harm, usually entirely imagined, she would never know. It was chivalrous, but chivalry was rather a pointless, archaic endeavor. Nevertheless, it was not unwelcome after all these years, to know his thoughts. And his idealistic romanticism overcame her practical sensibilities and even managed to endear him closer to her. The idea that she was dreaming had allowed her to hear his words without silencing them through her anger, and his words had broken any ice that had been left clinging to her heart.

"What has happened to you?" she asked, looking again at his majestic dress and his oddly short crest.

Londo smiled, "You would _not_ believe me if I told you." He searched her eyes for a moment, "Timov, during our last conversation, you said to me that marriage ends at death. You have fulfilled your duty to me, but I do not wish to lose you."

Timov laid her head back on her pillow, her strength waning. "Londo, you never were particularly fond of wives, so I can only assume it will improve our relationship. And while you may be dead, I am not yet so. So you may have my forgiveness." She noted with approval the clench in his jaw, the slight nod of his head, the quickness of his breath. A smile crept across her face even as her breath hitched with difficulty.

"Timov, I want you to know that I would have said these things without any other motive, _you_ _must believe me_ , but there is also something I must ask you to do, not for myself but for our people. It not an easy thing." He watched the difficulty with which she breathed and the jagged rise and fall of her chest. She looked back at him, her eyes holding a question.

Londo took the paper that was lying next to her and unfolded it, showing her the picture on the cover, an image of G'Kar's body next to his. "What is this?" she looked back at him anxiously.

"As I said, it is a long story, my dove, but we died at each other's hands. It was not murder but rather because I asked him to release me from this world, and in turn, the darkness of this world took him as well. And now, this image has been hurdled to all of our colonies and outposts and to the Alliance's as well, and it will take some time for the explanation to reach those places. In the meantime, there are Centauri and Narn who have already died in a misunderstanding of this image. I need you, Timov, and I need your strength now to save these people who are dying because all they can see is that a Centauri Emperor killed the spiritual leader of the Narn and he, in turn, killed a Centauri Emperor. I need your strength to make a statement – a joint statement with the Narn to help these people. They are not meant to be sent beyond the rim yet."

"Londo," she whispered, "I don't have any strength left."

Mollari swallowed hard, "I know what I am asking of you, Timov. _Please_. You are my only hope to help these people."

"You wish me to reconsider my decision to treat my illness? It will only extend my life a short time."

Mollari nodded, "Yes. I know you are ready to go, to die. And I know how stubborn you are about letting doctors interfere in your well-laid plans. I know that the treatment is painful and that may extend your life by a short amount of time. But that is time that I desperately need. If you do this for me, I will use this time to tell you everything that has happened in the last 16 years. All of the things that I hid from you. I will lay it all at your feet, and you may judge my actions when I am done."

"You banished me 10 years ago, why would any of our people listen to me now?"

"They _will_ listen to you. Since they hate me for all that is happened, they will love you all the more for having the last word after your banishment. And I know you will take great satisfaction in that."

Timov exhaled with the smallest shake of her head and closed her eyes to recover herself for a moment. Londo listened to the scratch of her uneven breath for what seemed like an eternity until she opened her eyes. In them, he noticed a fierceness and determination that, until that moment, had been missing. It was all the answer he needed, and he kissed her forehead gently. "Rest then," he gently told her, but she gathered her strength and reached beside him, ringing the tiny bell stationed next to her.

Within a few moments, the same nurse returned to her bedside, worry evident in her face. "Your Highness?" she asked gently, seeing the Empress was both desperately ill and had tear stained cheeks.

With as much authority as Timov could muster, she instructed the nurse to fetch the physician together with any treatments she had formerly refused, arrange a private transport to Narn as soon as possible, and set up a teleconference with a representative of the Kha'Ri before her departure.

"But Ma'am," Luccia's eyes were wide with fright, "travelling now – in your state," she dared not say that they expected the Empress to pass away at any moment and that the travel would surely kill her, so she only said, "it is not recommended."

Timov's spine contracted, "I've never taken recommendations I don't agree with, and I'm not about to start now. Now go, there is much to be done."

Luccia gulped, curtsied, and briskly departed with her instructions.

Mollari watched the scene with concern in his eyes, and after the nurse departed, he returned to Timov's bedside and gently traced her hand with his fingertips, the touch soothing her into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the episode, "Point of No Return," Lady Morella, the third wife of Emperor Turhan is said to speak for both herself and the deceased emperor. Although she happens to be a seer, there does not appear to be a connection between her seer status and that she speaks for Turhan from the beyond.


	10. Fire & Ice

 

*Art used by permission of author, image © [Jameson9101322](https://jameson9101322.deviantart.com/)

...

 _Through vaults of pain,_  
_Enribbed and wrought with groins of ghastliness,_  
_I passed, and garish spectres moved my brain_  
_To dire distress._

 _And hammerings,_  
_And quakes, and shoots, and stifling hotness, blent_  
_With webby waxing things and waning things_  
_As on I went._

 _"Where lies the end_  
_To this foul way?" I asked with weakening breath._  
_Thereon ahead I saw a door extend -_  
_The door to death._

 _It loomed more clear:_  
_"At last!" I cried. "The all-delivering door!"_  
_And then, I knew not how, it grew less near_  
_Than theretofore._

 _And back slid I_  
_Along the galleries by which I came,_  
_And tediously the day returned, and sky,_  
_And life—the same._

 _A Wasted Illness_ , Thomas Hardy

A short while later, a doctor entered Timov's sickroom. He carried himself with the distinguished air of a nobleman, and his temples had started to gray, though his crest was in the style of the new aristocracy. Mollari recognized him as Lord Trilco, a noble of a young House trying to climb its way into society, and the man had been Timov's personal physician for some time. Mollari stood by the window, waiting, as Trilco explained in mind-numbing detail what the treatments for her illness would involve and the pain medication protocols that he was prescribing.

At last, unable to take any more of the man's twaddle, Mollari strode over to him and said in his booming voice, "Get on with it, we haven't got all day."

Timov's eyes widened, but as expected, the doctor continued his explanation unaware of Mollari's words. When the doctor had at last finished, nerves seemed to capture him, for he gulped and took Timov's pale hand, prompting a scowl from Londo, but he paced back to his position at the window.

"Empress," Trilco stuttered, "I know that you are reeling from the Emperor's death, but it makes my hearts leap that you have made this decision to extend your life. I cannot help but think that you have reconsidered our conversation. The one about the protection of my House? I want to reiterate my deep admiration and fondness for you . . . ."

Londo's eyes narrowed as he sensed the direction of the conversation, color beginning to fire his face. In two short strides, he was at the man's face, roaring in his ear, "Who is this fool?"

Timov put a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes.

". . . And I certainly would not want to rush anything, but I would offer you not only my protection but also my hand in marriage . . . ."

Londo inhaled fire, his chest swelling with anger. "My body is not even cold!" he bellowed in the man's ear.

The doctor smiled dreamily at Timov, oblivious to the thunder beside him.

Timov dropped her hand and sighed, "Doctor, thank you for your thoroughness. You have given me much to think about. But I'm afraid I have a headache coming on, and I need to rest. _You may go._ "

Londo turned to Timov with blazing eyes and a raging temper, "What _exactly_ do you have to think about? He's trying to climb Centauri society by first climbing into your bed."

Timov glared at Londo with a cutting stare.

"Of course, your Highness," Trilco ventured, " _Timov_ ," he laughed nervously, "I will be back shortly to check on you." The Doctor bowed, beaming serenely at her before he departed, closing the door behind him.

"I will have him executed for his insolence," Londo bellowed at his retreating back.

As soon as the door was closed, Timov turned to Londo. "I would like to see exactly how you will manage that _since you are dead_ ," her eyes widened with ire, "You may have changed your clothes, but you are still an emperor of the Centauri Republic. Start acting like one."

Mollari shook his fists in anger, "Ah, now I remember why we didn't have any children - you treat everyone like a child!"

Timov didn't move, her icy stare cutting through him. "No, I didn't have any children because I am married to one. And one child of the House of Mollari is quite enough for anyone to deal with," she took a deep breath, calming her own temper. "Even if you do not have to behave like an emperor anymore, I must still carry the weight of being the empress. And _you_ will need to exercise some amount of restraint if I am to maintain any sanity at all. Ultimately, it reflects poorly on you, Londo, if you are yelling at the top of your lungs, and I cannot maintain a simple conversation with someone. Your behavior will make me look quite mad, and the result is detrimental to your legacy. So please try to behave yourself, at least some of the time. Do you understand?"

Londo's jaw was set, his eyes smoldering. "I happen to speak fluent Centauri, so _yes_ , I _understand_ ," he spat out the words. Then, ignoring her request to behave, he threw an accusatory finger toward the door through which the doctor had disappeared demanded, "Did you have an affair with him?"

"I will not dignify your petty question with a response, Londo. And even if I did, it is hardly any of your business. As they say, 'What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.' And anyway, did you want me to sit here like a spinster pining after you until I met my grave?"

He gaped, his face filled with fury, "Now _THAT IS_ treason."

"Oh _please_ , affairs of the flesh and affairs of the heart are entirely different. I thought you were a little more enlightened about what actually happens with arranged marriages," Timov said coolly.

"We are talking about you here, not Mariel," he said, steaming as he circled the bed like a lion.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Timov replied tartly, her spine tightening with ire.

"I mean you are the _Empress_ of the Centauri Republic, not the wife of a lowly diplomat. I thought you had some standards."

Timov didn't reply, but she pursed her lips and dressed him down with her eyes. Seeing the expression she directed at him and knowing she would bring up his countless affairs, Mollari waved his hands in mock surrender, "Oh, don't say it."

Mollari paced the room restlessly, each stride hinting at his ongoing annoyance. But after a while, he seemed to settle down, and Timov assumed that his temper had cooled, but then he advanced on her again. "So was it an affair of the flesh or an affair of the heart?"

Rolling her eyes, she answered simply, "If you must know, there was no affair." He had been holding his breath with irritation, and he exhaled, disarmed. Then she added, "Not since I went to the palace anyway."

His eyes blazed again as he threw his hands up, "You are doing this to me on purpose!"

"Yes, I am." She chided him with her smile. "And I will continue to purposely vex you if you insist on having these juvenile conversations. Now let it go. We have more important things to worry about."

He stalked over to the window again, his temples throbbing. "And what do _you_ want?" he asked at the sight of G'Kar's appearance.

"I've just told you," Timov said, unable to sense G'Kar's presence, in a remarkably restrained tone as her own annoyance and fatigue were growing, "I want you to behave sensibly for once, if that is even _possible_ for you."

"Have I interrupted something?" Although G'Kar was unable to make his presence known in the world of the living, G'Kar could hear and see everything occurring in the room, and he sensed the mounting tension.

Mollari put a hand to his own forehead. Directing his words at Timov, he said, "I wasn't asking you. G'Kar is here with me."

"Good, perhaps he can talk some sense into you," Timov laid her weary head back on the pillow. "Would it be asking too much for a little peace and quiet?"

"Come on," Londo pulled G'Kar toward the door by his sleeve until he ran right into it, and his temper flared again. "What's this?" The door rattled with his anger.

G'Kar put a gentle glove on Mollari's shoulder, "Rumors of what the dead can do are greatly exaggerated. We would have to manifest in the past or the future when the door did not exist or was open, walk through it, and then return to this moment, so it is quite the waste of energy. That or apparat our bodies – and that is also a waste of energy with more severe consequences if someone should happen upon us at the wrong moment." He sighed, "Just ask Timov to have it opened."

Taking a deep breath, Londo turned toward the bed and commanded, "Timov, instruct your staff to leave the doors open. G'Kar and I are unable to walk through walls, closed doors, and idiotic doctors."

Timov rolled her eyes again. Living with Londo was just as frustrating in death as it had been in life. "If it will allow me to get some rest," she said under her breath, summoning Luccia again, and under the guise of needing fresh air, she left instructions for the staff to leave all the doors in the house open for the time being.

As they walked through the adjoining hallway, G'Kar noticed Londo's expression of fury when they came upon the doctor, and G'Kar put a restraining hand on Mollari's chest as they strolled outside, "Let it go," he repeated Timov's words calmly, having ascertained something had happened involving the doctor to irk Londo's temper.

"Let it go," Londo said in a mocking tone. "You were not there. This fool was proposing to my wife, and I have not yet been dead even a day."

G'Kar frowned in response. "You may have won her back, but to keep her, you will need to restrain yourself. I hardly know Timov, and yet even I can see she is quite capable of taking care of such a situation herself. You are going to have to start trusting her judgment, as she has trusted yours. Otherwise, you are putting her in an impossible situation."

Mollari's anger flared again as he pointed at G'Kar with a furious finger, "You are the _last_ person I want marital advice from." But after G'Kar's words, Londo's temper finally settled. After a few minutes, he explained to G'Kar that although the pain medication would be temporarily helpful, the treatments for Timov's illness would not take effect for some time – time she might not have before she passed beyond the rim.

G'Kar's face was grim as he took in this news. G'Kar put a gloved hand up, stopping Mollari's forward motion as they walked. "As Lorien did for Sheridan, I can try to extend her life. I will summon tranquility to her soul. Like the healing benefits of meditation, the calm will quell the power that pain has over her and I can fan her life spark. As your memories of other lifetimes will tell you, it is possible to extend a life spark for many lifetimes. It will not ease the pain of the illness, however, for some time until her body has the chance to heal itself. How long do you wish to give her?"

Londo replied, "She will be very angry if she finds out what we have done." A look of thoughtfulness came over Mollari as he thought for several moments, breathing in the calming air of the outdoors, "And yet, I cannot help but think that the mantle Vir is taking up will be very heavy. It almost crushed me, and Vir has a sensitive soul. He could use an ally in that pit of vipers, someone who he can trust and who will help him without regard to his destruction. I think that if we restore her the years she would have lived without this illness to die in old age as a matriarch of the Republic, it would help both the Republic and Vir."

G'Kar searched Mollari's eyes for a moment, a question unspoken.

"What is it?" Mollari asked, seeing G'Kar's contemplative look.

G'Kar scanned the horizon before his eyes returned to Mollari. "What of you? It will delay her return for some time."

Mollari looked back toward Timov's window, "Yes, I know. But I have learned patience in my time as emperor, and she waited for me long enough. Now it is I who shall wait for her." He pointed his finger at the house, "As long as she reassigns that idiot doctor."

G'Kar groaned at Mollari's continuing indignation, "Let's go back inside." They returned to Timov's sickbed, and they found her resting fitfully. G'Kar walked to her bedside as his hands hovered over her torso. In concentration, he closed his eyes and fanned Timov's life spark, granting her the additional years robbed from her by the illness. When he opened his eyes, he fell backward, his energy sapped, and Mollari caught him by the elbows, concern again rising in his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked G'Kar as he steadied him.

"Yes," G'Kar said shrugging off Londo's hands at first until he faltered again with exhaustion, "I must . . . just rest a little." Having been helped to the nearest chair, G'Kar eased into it slowly.

Watching G'Kar, Londo's concern overtook him, and he found a chair in the corner which give him the vantage point of being able to watch both Timov and G'Kar. There he sat in silent thought, unable to move as his wife and his friend recovered in the pale room.

At last, the Empress' staff entered the room, oblivious to the Narn and the Emperor, and the staff worked quietly so as not to wake the Empress. While she rested, they ensured the teleconference connection was secure. It appeared they had reached the Kha'Ri, for a Narn representative blinked in and out, testing the connection along with Palco, Timov's young chief of staff. Palco was a grandnephew of Dunseny, and both Dunseny and Palco were part of a family that had long served House Mollari loyally.

Seeing G'Kar's eyes flutter open, Mollari pushed his concern under a mask of nonchalance and returned to G'Kar's side, a chiding look on his face. Taking a seat next to G'Kar, he prodded the Narn with his tone. "Ah, good, you are awake. I thought I would have to take care of you like a pouchling before long."

G'Kar stiffened, his lip curling back as he sat up, "I'm fine," he growled.

At G'Kar's grumble, Mollari's eyes lightened significantly, "Yes, it seems you are – or will be." He patted G'Kar on the shoulder amicably. "They are almost ready with the teleconference, but I don't know how we will manage all of this."

G'Kar leaned forward, "Why?'

Mollari lowered his voice, as if someone else might hear. "She is not traveling to Narn as merely the widow of the Centauri Emperor. I do not think anyone – except perhaps that doctor – has quite realized yet that because I had no heir and because the Centaurum is in disarray and likely will remain so for some time that she is the _de facto_ head of the government. If anyone had realized it, she would already have hordes at her door. I fear we are putting her in great danger, G'Kar."

G'Kar shook his head, dismissing Mollari's comments for the moment. "Vir organized the resistance against the Drakh, surely he will be looked to as the _de facto_ emperor."

"To some extent, but he cannot be _named_ emperor until the Centaurum is gathered. And there is likely to be much disarray in the Capitol for some time until they can root out the Drakh hiding there. It is surely a warzone at the moment. So unofficially, yes, he will be looked to as the frontrunner to become the next emperor, but officially, she is the head of the government until the Centaurum makes the decision. And, you should know that there have been many, many strong claims to the throne which have been thrown aside by usurpers. She will need security. There are a great many ambitious Centauri, and they would use any opportunity to undermine Vir's claim to the throne up to and including assassinating the Empress Dowager."

"Do Centauri ever take a break from court intrigue?" G'Kar asked glibly.

Mollari answered the question with a glare. "How are we to get security to her here before she leaves on the transport? We are two days from Centauri Prime and a day from Narn."

G'Kar waved to the building with disbelief, "Surely the _Empress of the Centauri Republic_ has a security contingent?"

Mollari flashed his canines in thought. "There is one, yes, but not enough for a state visit to a place such as Narn. I think the guard was recently rotated from the palace, but with the changing circumstances, I also do not know if they can be trusted. The palace guards were overseen by Durla and the Minister of Defense, so their independent allegiance to my House is questionable at best. And up until now, she was little threat. But _now_ that her position has changed, I do not know if they can be trusted."

G'Kar folded his arms in thought. "I came to know some of the guards – we will pick one or two trusted ones to accompany her to Narn and . . ."

"One or two?" Mollari's voice rose. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

G'Kar tried to quell Molari's rising anger. "If peace is the symbol we wish to send, she cannot march into Narn with a bristling security contingent. It would do worlds of good if she was given Narn security. In fact, it would be better if it were all Narn security."

"Absolutely not," Mollari shook his head with determination.

G'Kar felt personally insulted, "What do you mean, 'absolutely not'? Did I not serve you well as your bodyguard?"

Mollari shook a warning finger in his direction. "This is entirely different. Timov is going to Narn as the head of the Centauri Republic, and you want to send her into a viper's nest without _any_ Centauri at her side. It would not be appropriate or safe."

G'Kar's face glowered for a moment before he let his temper cool, and finally he asked with a warning in his tone, "Do you not trust me?"

Mollari threw a look of disbelief at G'Kar. "Don't be absurd. Of course I trust you. That does not mean I trust all of Narn with Timov's life. Only the crown prince would send the head of the Centauri Republic to Narn without a proper security detail."

G'Kar ignored Mollari's words, "And I trust no one more than Na'Toth. You will have Timov ensure that her security requests are handled by her. Her word is as good as my own."

Mollari face turned taunt, "Na'Toth has no idea that you are involved in this little venture, and the last time I saw her, if she had a knife, it would have found its way between my ribs. Besides, who knows what she is doing now."

G'Kar scowled, "She is on Narn. In fact, she is very famous among my people now, and she is well aware that you helped save her life. She will not let anything happen to your wife. And, frankly, there is no bond in this Universe stronger than her word."

"No," Mollari stubbornly shook his head, "I will not allow it."

"Won't allow what?" Timov stirred from her sleep.

Mollari glared at G'Kar for a moment before turning to Timov to explain. "G'Kar has suggested the most idiotic idea – he wants his former aide, Na'Toth, to provide you with a security contingent on Narn. And he is fully convinced leaving your Centauri guards behind is a wise and safe choice. It is the most foolhardy thing I have ever heard."

Timov pulled herself up in the bed, feeling surprisingly better than when she fell asleep. "And what's wrong with it?"

Mollari could not believe his ears. "What's wrong with it?" He threw his hands up in frustration, "It is suicide!"

Timov looked at him placidly, "It's the exact message we need to send, Londo, and I agree with G'Kar. If it will make you feel better, I will take a personal guard, and the rest will be Narn."

Mollari's face was turning red again as he pointed at Timov with one hand and G'Kar with the other. "I will not fight both of you!"

"Good," Timov smoothed her covers as she ignored Londo's indignation. "It is settled then."

Hearing the finality in her tone, Mollari knew he had already lost and clenched his jaw in frustration. But he had no alternatives, for she was his only link to the land of the living, and he knew if he pressed her further, he might lose any ground he had with her. Plaintively, he added, "If you are to have Narn guards, then at least let us make the arrangement for the joint statement in a neutral place. You _know_ that Narn is unsafe."

"Londo," Timov gave him her most exasperated look, "you are defeating the whole point of going to _them_."

Throwing up his hands in defeat, Londo stalked outside to cool off, leaving G'Kar and Timov alone. In his absence, Counselor Na'Tar of the first circle of the Kha'Ri appeared via teleconference to speak with Timov, and they discussed the ongoing and tense situation between the Centauri and the Narn. The Kha'Ri's security reports confirmed what Londo and G'Kar had been telling Timov, and Timov detailed the Drakh infestation that had culminated in the recent events in the throne room of Centauri Prime.

"We agree that it would be in our mutual interest to issue a joint statement to dispel rumors about what has happened on Centauri Prime with respect to G'Kar," Counselor Na'Tar told Timov, thoughtfully. "Though it may be impossible to know with exactitude what happened in that room." He studied the frail woman propped up in the bed on the screen before him. "But we would appreciate the exchange of certain intelligence reports to confirm our mutual understanding – and that which is being reported on ISN. Whatever you can provide on the Drakh incursion would be most helpful for our analysis of the situation."

Timov refused to show weakness by glancing helplessly around the room for Londo but she could sense the Counselor's desire for information on the state of Centauri military defenses, so she replied, "Of course, Counselor. Send your reports to my aides when possible, and I will contact my Ministry of Intelligence for our latest reports. I will send them as soon as possible. Of course, you understand, they will be limited to the matter at hand. We do not expect details beyond what we have discussed to be required for our statement."

A small light dulled in Counselor Na'Tar's eyes. "Of course." The tall warrior shifted in his chair, his deep voice penetrating the screen, "There is one other matter. Will we be issuing joint statements or do you wish to . . ." he took in sight of Timov's pallid frame again, "make a joint appearance?"

Timov replied, "We believe it would be in the best interest of all involved if we act swiftly, but we also believe the strength of a joint appearance is necessary to quell the deaths that have been happening on the outer worlds." Timov could feel weakness beginning to overtake her, but she pushed it down with the strength of her resolve.

Counselor Na'Tar was surprised. "This is acceptable to the Kha'Ri. I will look into which neutral locations are best suited to the purpose."

"If it is acceptable to the Kha'Ri, Counselor, we would like to make the joint statement from Narn."

Counselor Na'Tar was shocked, though he allowed none of it to register on his face. His eyes narrowed slightly as he contemplated whether this was yet another Centauri trap. Before he could protest, Timov added, "We will be boarding a private transport to Narn, and we would appreciate a Narn escort at the border of your space. As for security protocols on the planet, we are content to allow the Kha'Ri to make these arrangements on our behalf with one condition."

"Which is?" Na'Tar asked suspiciously.

"That Na'Toth supervise all security arrangements, including my personal security."

"Na'Toth?" Na'Tar gestured with one palm outstretched, "Na'Toth has been out of public service for some time now. She is a private citizen . . . ."

"That is my condition, Counselor. If Na'Toth will not personally agree to the condition, we will make alternative arrangements. As you suggested, perhaps you could compile a list of neutral places."

Na'Tar drummed his fingers. Centauri royalty had never appeared side-by-side with the Narn Regime as equals on the Narn Homeworld. It was, at the very least, a symbolic victory for the Narn. "One moment," the screen blinked off, and Timov again pushed away her apprehension and fatigue.

G'Kar glanced at her, "You are doing well, Timov. I would venture to say you may even have unnerved him with your suggestion," G'Kar chuckled. "And that is something rarely done to the stoic Na'Tar." But Timov could not hear him, so she merely smoothed her bedsheets, and before long, Na'Tar appeared again.

"Your condition is acceptable. The preparations will be made. We will handle the details. I will have draft copies of the speeches sent ahead along with the schedule of events. Please send us the details of your arrival and the other items we discussed."

Having wrapped up the details, the two leaders took their formal leave of one another, and the screen blinked off. Though she was exhausted, Timov called Palco to her side, detailing what she needed done. She wanted to tell him to fetch Londo, but that would have made her look as insane as she felt, so she settled for resting her eyes, since she knew she would need to board the transport as soon as it was ready.

G'Kar saw her wandering eyes searching for Londo, and he struck out in search of the emperor. He found him, head in hands, under a birchbaum tree next to a small fountain playing the soothing melody of trickling water.

"You know," G'Kar clasped his hands, standing nearby. "Timov was supposed to die today. It _was_ written."

Londo looked up, "Is this some sort of Narn way of making me feel better?"

G'Kar sighed, "What I mean is that she has already been granted additional time that she never would have had otherwise. She was meant to die of her illness today. And yet, she lives, hours past the time she was to be summoned. The Universe has allowed this to happen. It was written, now it is unwritten. We cannot know what will come of this, but I believe you should take some solace in the fact that each moment is a gift, regardless of when those moments end.

" _Great Maker."_

G'Kar felt umbrage wash over him. "Watch your tone, Mollari, or our next assignment may be very unpleasant."

Londo shook his head with annoyance.

Sitting down, G'Kar softened, "While you were out here sulking, the arrangements for the joint statement were made. The Kha'Ri have only asked for Centauri intelligence reports to confirm the situation as they understand it, and they have agreed to the security terms. In addition, I have observed that my own Centauri guard, Provi, was transferred here. He may look like a bulldog, but he is loyal, trustworthy, and unlike many of your other guards, capable of compassion. These things I know with certainty," G'Kar thought back to the moment his eye was torn from his socket. "He is almost a Narn at heart," G'Kar said wistfully. Looking at Mollari, he continued, "And I will go to Narn and ensure the security preparations are adequate. If anything is amiss, I will meet you on the transport before you debark."

After a moment, Mollari reluctantly nodded, placated by the offer. "All right, I will see you tomorrow." Londo stood up, dragging his heels in thought as he returned slowly to Timov's room. There, he instructed Timov to appoint Provi the Captain of her guard and take him with her on the trip. Then, Londo broached the subject of the intelligence reports. "You will speak with Centauri Prime and dismiss the Minister of Intelligence," he told her decisively. "My entire cabinet was filled with rats. Now, you can begin to cull their herd one-by-one, except perhaps General Rhys, and it must start with the Minister of Intelligence."

Timov's eyebrows shot up, "You're sure this is wise? The Centauri Republic hasn't allowed an Empress to take power in . . . well, ever, to my knowledge."

Londo returned her gaze with a steady stare, "There is no one else – you are the unity of the Republic until things settle down, and they will accept you. _They must accept you._ They have no choice, if they love their country, and you ask this of them. Anyway, you will say that _we_ are asking, so that will make them feel better about taking orders from a woman," Mollari chuckled. "And anyway, the replacement of key ministers will be critical not just for Vir's rise to power but for the success of Centauri Prime's future. It cannot be accomplished in one day, but the faster the cabinet is replaced with capable Centauri who place country above their Houses, the easier it will be to rebuild. If Vir wants to appoint his own ministers when he takes power, he may do so. But at least we can smooth the way."

Timov listened as Londo dictated a list of names of individuals who had the proper qualifications and who could be adequately trusted to serve their country's interests. Together, they matched several prospective names of individual's who would be amiable to Vir's cause to each ministry post. Then, Londo ranked the importance of each ministry, and the Minister of Intelligence was the first on his list. "You will dismiss the current minister, appoint one from your list, and then – only then – you will ask for a briefing on the current situation and have him prepare the intelligence reports that must be sent to Narn."

Within the hour, after much resistance from the Minister himself, the Centauri Republic had a new Minister of Intelligence. The old Minister of Intelligence was not willing to submit to the Empress's demands, but he was also not willing to organize an armed resistance against her, and the other Centauri in attendance during the teleconference convinced him that she was only remaining pillar of their government that might yet be functioning. She was needed to hold the Republic together until a new emperor could be chosen. In light of the increasingly angry horde threatening his life if he did not submit to the Empress's request, the Minister of Intelligence deftly decided to step down, effective immediately.

While the newly named minister was located, the senior civilians from the Ministry of Intelligence briefed the Empress on the latest, desperate situation in the Capitol City and beyond, and they also prepared the reports requested by the Narn Regime. In addition, the senior civilians briefed her on the machinations revolving around the empty throne, including Ambassador Cotto's emerging position as the frontrunner, but they also detailed several senior Houses that were preparing to lay claim to the throne which had been actively jockeying members of the Centaurum for support while Cotto was on Minbar setting up exile headquarters. Timov glanced at Londo at this news, and she noted that he had a chagrined look in his eye, and he was resting his head on a hand cradling his brow as if a headache was overtaking him. After the communication ended, Londo stated mildly, "I don't know if Vir is aware of how tenuous his position may be the longer he tries to conduct his war against the Drakh from Minbar. He should be informed that he must consolidate his power base with the great Houses – especially the older ones – as soon as possible, even if he must do it from Minbar. That or he must return to the Capitol as his presence would quell the older Houses that are planning to usurp his claim.

Sighing, Timov took the list and called Palco back to her side. "One last thing," she told Palco. "Send me the Doctor." She didn't turn, but she could feel Londo's intense gaze on her back. While they were waiting, she handwrote a long message and emblazoned it with the Royal Seal. When Trilco arrived, his hands were trembling, but his face was glowing.

"Lord Trilco," Timov smiled, "I would like to ask your assistance." She could feel the ire emanating from Londo's direction, but he was unusually quiet.

"Anything, my lady," Trilco replied, beaming.

Taking the message out, she held it up. "This communique is extremely important to me, and I need a trusted . . ." she feigned a struggle for words, ". . . friend to deliver it for me. I feel that you are such a . . . _friend_ . . . Trilco. Am I correct that you are such a man? A man who I may entrust with this mission that is so very dear to my hearts?"

"Oh yes," he stammered. "Absolutely. I remain resolutely by your side. Anything I can do, even at the cost of my own life, I would do for you, _Timov_." He took her hands and kissed them.

As he was doing so, she stole a glance at Londo who had an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, Londo noted with chagrin in his voice, "Now, you are toying with him, as you have toyed with me."

Without responding, she directed her attention back to Trilco. "It must be delivered to the hands of Ambassador Cotto. It is for his eyes only."

"Of course," the Doctor smiled momentarily before his smile fell. "But what of you? You will have need of me on your trip!"

Timov flashed an intoxicating smile at him, "Luccia will be with me, and you have done everything you can for me for the next few days. Besides, this is _very_ important to me, personally, and, as they say, absence makes the hearts grow fonder. And, of course, depending on the success of your mission, I will feel ready to give you a response to your question upon your return."

The doctor smoothed his crest, "Of course, if it is that important to you, I will go at once." He took the letter as if he was holding the Eye of Emperor Tuscano itself. Tucking the sealed message in his breast pocket, he bowed deeply before departing.

As his footsteps faded, Mollari pointed at Timov, "Where did you learn such manipulation?"

With the hint of smile, she replied, "From the master, himself."

* * *

Within the hour, the Empress embarked for Narn. As the entourage entered the transport, Londo walked a half-pace behind her, and his gentle hand rested on the small of her back to balance her and to catch her exhausted body if she fell. He noted grimly that with each step, she was unsteadily leaning more and more on the support of his hand. He knew she was at end the very end of her rope, and against the protests of everyone else in attendance, including his, she staunchly refused to be swayed from her decision to walk to her quarters on the transport rather than be wheeled there. But as soon as the doors to her personal suite on the transport closed, she collapsed backwards against Londo, and if he had not been standing there, she would have tumbled to the floor. Catching her, he carried her to the bed. Stripping off his jacket and waistcoat, he fell into the bed beside her, and she curled into his shoulder as he wrapped her in a protective embrace. As they lay in the darkness, he unconsciously shared the same burden that Vir and Timov had carried for him for so long – the powerless, utterly helpless feeling of watching someone you love dive headfirst into danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G'Kar's reference to his eye with respect to Provi is meant to meet up with a unwritten vignette in "Chained to the Fire."


	11. Standing on the Brink

_"Blood fills my mouth. Fire sears my veins. I choke back a howl. The silver knife slips-the_ _choice is mine._  
_I am death or life. I am salvation or destruction. Angel or demon._  
_I am grace._  
_I plunge in the knife._  
_This is my sacrifice -_ _I am the monster."_

\- _The Dark Divine,_ Bree Despain

After a full night's rest on the transport, Timov awoke, but she did not stir. Cracking her blue eyes open, she felt her energy had been rejuvenated by the hours of rest, and she felt like a cocoon of energy pulsated around her. She knew better than to wake Londo. The man usually went to bed far after everyone else, often working into the late hours, and he was usually up far before them. Because he only slept a few hours a night, he slept like a stone, dead to the world, though the world was often saddled with his snoring. Waking him prematurely usually had disastrous consequences, and it was best to let him awaken by his own power.

She wondered at how light his embrace was – so light it did not cause her any discomfort, though much of her body still throbbed with the constant dull ache of her illness. She laid a gentle hand on his chest, feeling his dual hearts beating, and she wondered whether he had gotten his old heart back or if the device was beating for him even in the afterlife. _Silly questions_ , she thought to herself.

Glancing down, Timov was chagrined to see the man had not even had the sense to take his boots off before crawling into bed, but that was the Londo she knew so well – brash and charging into everything headfirst. She traced the scar on his forehead where ricocheted debris from an assassination attempt on Durla's life had hit him. _Yes, headfirst into everything_. He was lucky it hadn't gotten him killed before he had decided to have his life ended by G'Kar.

She studied his sleeping face, which had years stripped from it. He was like a new man without the weight of power and responsibility crushing his every breath. But even though he looked younger and seemed more content, she noticed the worry lines caused by years on the throne were still deeply etched into the corners of his eyes. Apparently some things couldn't be undone, even after death.

She glanced at his hair and wondered what possibly could have happened. He usually had more sense than hacking away unevenly at his crest. She thought the new aristocracy style looked absurdly gauche, but at least no one else could see him. If he was lucky, his crest would grow back in the afterlife.

She could not help but consider how long Londo might stay. He was always on the move, so now, freed from the responsibilities of the crown, she couldn't imagine that he would sit idly by, twiddling his thumbs. As she closed her eyes again, she resolved to simply enjoy these moments. And, against her more practical sensibilities, she allowed herself to relish something she had been denied for so long – the symbol of his affection, love, and concern, expressed in the simplicity of an embrace. It was bittersweet, she thought to herself, that such a moment could not last, and that they were only allowed it in the temporary purgatory that was her life and his death.

Finally, inching closer, she leaned in determined to steal the kiss that she had been denied since the guards dragged her from his bedroom on her last evening in the palace – the night she had enjoyed dinner with him and Vir in the private dining room, and they had all gotten quite silly and intoxicated. She vaguely remembered that Londo had thrown a full glass of some sort of liquor at the wall, forgetting to drain it before he threw it. In a way, their intoxicated kiss in the dining room had led to the spectacle later in his bedroom, and she desperately wanted to forget how disastrously the night had ended. Perhaps replacing it with the new memory of a kiss could wash all the painful memories away. At the touch of her lips, Londo awoke, and his amorous hands ran down her body, but she batted them away.

"That's it?" he asked, still half-asleep.

"Does the term 'necrophilia' mean anything to you?" she tormented him, a smile hinting at the corners of her mouth.

"I am not a corpse," he chuckled, leaning in.

She pushed him away, stiffening her arms against his advances. "That may be true, but I almost am one. I feel oddly better this morning, but I do not feel _well_ , Londo. My body aches. I felt as though I was ready to pass beyond the rim yesterday, yet I am still here. Besides, you _had your chance_ ," she said, referring to the night in the palace, so long ago. Still, he persisted, breathing in her intoxicating scent, and he demanded another kiss until she softened, allowing their lips to meet, warmness blossoming from their touch. He couldn't resist her touch or the thoughts flooding his senses, but at last, he pulled away, burying his head in the pillow next to her with a groan. "I see you are going to torture me in this life as well. Now I must wait for you to die also?"

Smoothing his crest into place, her eyes danced, "You'll manage."

He sighed as he threw his feet to the ground, resting in a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He put a hand to his forehead, still looking very tired. "Anyway, I know you don't feel well – neither do I, now. This is worse than a hangover," he muttered.

Timov narrowed her eyes at his behavior. "Why is it that I am feeling _better_ and you are feeling _worse_?"

Londo slowly stood up from the bed, still fatigued as he stretched his arms out in a broad gesture while he listened to the hush of the bedroom. He let the silence sink in for several moments before responding. " _This_ is the sound of no bells ringing."

Timov narrowed her eyes. "You don't fool me, Londo Mollari. Are you playing at God?"

Retrieving his waistcoat and jacket from the floor, he refastened the waistcoat, securing each button one-by-one. Clearing his throat, he finally responded once its double row of buttons were fastened, "I can assure you, I'm not _playing_ at anything."

Timov pushed herself into a sitting position against the plump pillows that lay against the bed's headboard. "What have you done?"

He put on his coat, smoothing its lines. "I have done nothing." While Mollari might have convinced himself he was not lying because, technically, _he_ had not extended her life spark, he _had_ donated his energy to her cause when he had embraced her, allowing her lack of energy to draw his away, which is why he felt utterly devoid of it. "Besides, if you wish to die," he told her, "there is poison in my desk drawer at the palace, and I'm sure you are perfectly capable of obtaining some yourself if you cannot wait that long. But I cannot assure you of what will happen after your death. That is up to the gods."

Timov thinned her lips, "You don't believe in the gods. And neither do I."

A hint of a smile played across Londo's face, "Nevertheless." Mollari knew that if she believed her death was taken from her, she would be bitter and resentful, but painful as it might be, if she had a measure of choice in the matter, she would be far more likely to accept it with equanimity. "Now," he headed for a mirror, annoyed when he found it lacking the reflection of his image, "we have some other business to attend to – like a few royal orders."

"No." Timov said firmly as she folded her hands and rested them on her torso.

"No?" Londo scoffed. "What do you mean, _no_?"

"I said, _no_. It is a word you have surely heard before. Perhaps when you were a child, though not anytime recently." She was rather enjoying his frustration now that he could not lord his position over her and everyone else in the room. "The tables have turned, have they not?"

Londo folded his arms in annoyance, "Timov, this is not a game."

Fire blazed in her eyes for a moment, "I _know_ that. I won't be issuing any more of your edicts until you fulfill the promise you made to me yesterday and explain yourself and the circumstances which have given rise to this situation. I feel that you put me in a terrible position yesterday, relying on a few choice words from you and, _apparently_ , G'Kar. What if they'd asked something that I hadn't been able to answer?"

The annoyance fell from Londo's face as he realized that she was making a reasonable request, so he draped his hands behind his back thoughtfully, rewinding his mind to the events almost twenty years before. Londo proceeded to tell Timov, sparing no lurid or embarrassing detail, the exact journey which had brought him to his end in the throne room. Twice, they were interrupted by Palco's update on the progression of the flight and Luccia attending to Timov's vital statistics, but the Empress sent the staff from her room as quickly as possible. When Londo finished several hours later, having detailed the entire affair from his first meeting with Mr. Morden through his desperate struggle to win time for Sheridan and Delenn to escape, Timov was visibly stunned. Over the course of his story, he watched her expressions change from anger and disgust to revulsion and horror to shock and pity. He could tell that it was all too much to process in one sitting, and from her demeanor, she was not yet ready to broach the entirety of what lay on his head. For that, he was grateful.

At last, after many minutes of strained silence, Timov finally spoke up, "I know guess I know what must be done first."

Mollari frowned, "And what is that?"

Ignoring his question, Timov rang for Palco, who brought her the royal stationary and the seal of her office. As she took it, she stopped him, "Palco, I need you to contact President Sheridan and ask him and Entil'Zha Delenn if it would be possible to obtain an official report regarding his recent time on Centauri Prime. Please impress upon President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn my urgent request on behalf of the Centauri people – we must have some other proof besides our own to offer the Narn – something to build trust between our people. I believe a report from Sheridan and Delenn detailing the circumstances that they witnessed in the palace would be a great help. Please ask them if they would be so kind as to send it directly to the Kha'Ri."

Palco bowed low as he dutifully took her instructions. Bidding him to stay a moment longer, she said, "I have an order that I would like to be issued at once." With the decisive look of satisfaction on her face, she wrote out a royal order. Signing it with a flourish, she smiled at it with pleasure.

Londo looked chagrined as he glanced over her shoulder, "I see you've rescinded my order to keep you from within 100 miles of the palace. Not that there's anything particularly desirable to do there at present."

Timov folded the order and gave it to Palco, sending him away. "Yes," she turned to Londo with a tight smile, "I have rescinded it. In fact, it will give me great pleasure to issue several royal orders undoing your ill-begotten work."

"All right," he put up his hands in surrender. "I am dead already, so I am telling you that I _know_ what I have done, what I have caused. If I did not, I would have tried to hide the details from you just now, to spare myself from hearing them again and to spare you from knowing them. But I would ask you this one thing – spare me the pain of one thousand cuts. Either tell me that I have deeply disappointed you, and my family, and our House, and the Republic or shriek at me with anger and smash something against the wall, but _please_ , Timov, do not prolong my suffering by alluding to my deeds at every turn. _That_ , I cannot bear."

For the first time, she perceived the plaintive expression on his face, and she understood that his shredded dignity had been laid bare. In that moment, she took pity him, and with one sigh, she let go of all the biting words she had on the topic, for she could see he had cut himself to pieces over the jagged paths that he had traveled. "And what orders did you want to discuss?"

Londo gratefully accepted her change of topic. "This is perhaps less important than the other matters facing the Republic, but as a man of tradition, it is something I feel should be done with haste, nevertheless." Seeing Timov's questioning face, Londo surveyed the floor. "Under Cartagia, we lost a great deal, including the emperor's telepaths. They should be restored to their rightful place at the palace. The reason the Republic has had a long tradition of four telepaths serving the emperor was to keep two to stay at the palace and two to stay with the emperor so that the throne would be protected and informed at all times. The destruction of our telepaths by Cartagia was exploited by the Drakh. If there had been proper telepathic security controls around the palace, the Drakh could have never exerted their influence over the Regent. Our telepaths must be restored to their proper place in society – and that includes the four telepaths whose duty it is walk with the emperor."

Timov sighed. This seemed like a very tall order. "And where will we magically conjure four telepaths who have been raised together since birth to serve the throne?"

Londo finally met her eyes, "You will not find such a thing for another generation. But, in the meantime, you will contact the Nunnery at Lake Challa. I have it on some authority that they may be able to provide some assistance in locating suitable candidates, especially . . ." he glanced at his hands "if some gesture is made in remembrance of the four who sacrificed their lives under Cartagia in service of the Republic."

"This sounds like something Vir might be better suited to handle."

"No," Londo cut her off, "that is exactly my point – the request would be better received coming from a woman."

"The next thing you'll say is that I need to go there and you will accompany me. I know the rumors just as well as you do, Londo."

Londo managed a smile, "I believe that even in my present form, I would not be granted admittance to the Nunnery at Lake Challa."

Timov sighed, "And what if Vir decides he does not want these telepaths?"

"They are for the security of the palace. They are a benefit if he wants to use them, and even if he decides not to travel with him, still they will serve an important purpose at the palace, as they always have."

After a moment of consideration, Timov decided she agreed with Londo, and she wrote out a long letter addressed to the Nunnery, describing the Republic's debt to its telepaths and requesting to open a dialogue with the Nunnery to locate suitable candidates. Usually such a request would have been more appropriately addressed to the Prophetess Supreme, but the last one had mysteriously disappeared, likely at the hands of the Drakh in their efforts to cull telepaths from detecting them on Centauri Prime. A replacement had not yet been installed, though the installation had been overdue for some time. She sent the communiques with Palco to relay electronically to their final destinations and asked him to prepare further intelligence briefings on matters related to the security situation in the capitol city.

As Palco left, Mollari sat on the edge of the bed and gently took her hand in his. "And are you feeling up to what lies before you today, my dove?"

"I will make it, one way or another," she tried not to think of how weary she was just sitting upright. "One way or another," she murmured.

* * *

Several hours later, the transport docked, and before the royal entourage was allowed to debark on the surface of Narn, Na'Toth entered the vessel after stationing guards at its entrance. Unbeknownst to her, she had her own entourage consisting of one deceased Narn religious icon trailing at her heels.

Na'Toth had aged well, as most Narn did. Though her spots had slightly dulled and faded, she was still physically fit, and she proudly carried herself. She had more backaches now, mainly from the hours she spent each day creating the bas reliefs of Da'Quana, but mostly, her age showed in the corners of her eyes and the arthritis that had plagued her since being chained up in the dungeons of Centauri Prime.

Na'Toth's red eyes scanned the transport interior, and she was met by the vessel's captain, Palco, and Provi. The three Centauri men briefed her on the vessel's strict timetable – Empress Timov would be on the ground only briefly for the condensed schedule due to her delicate condition. Palco went over the Kha'Ri's detailed schedule with Na'Toth, and Provi questioned her about the security arrangements that were being taken, including guard positions and other precautions considering the imposing security concerns. When they had finished their briefings, Palco led Na'Toth to the Empress's private quarters. The Empress had dressed but was seated in a robust cushioned chair. At Na'Toth's entrance, she rose, beckoning Na'Toth in, but she immediately dismissed Palco, wishing to speak with Na'Toth privately. Na'Toth brought her two fists to her chest in the traditional greeting, though there was a lack of crispness to the move, as if it was required but not necessarily earned.

Na'Toth looked uneasy in the Empress's quarters, and in truth, she was very uncomfortable. The Centauri had caused her people no end of suffering, and they were the cause of her personal misery for years in the palace's dungeons. The only race she might detest more than the Centauri were the Dilgar who had implanted a medical experiment in her grandfather's brain which had slowly destroyed him from the inside out. To be called to service by the Kha'Ri at the request of the Empress had been shocking, but her honor would not allow her to refuse the request by the First Circle. Yet, even now, she wondered if she should have agreed to such an endeavor. Surely, there were other Narn who were younger and more appropriate for this assignment – others who had less personal experience with the brutality of the Centauri dungeons, others who had not been left forgotten and alone in that dark and terrible place smelling of death and blood. She still visited it in her nightmares, and she had no wish to be reminded of it again.

It had taken her years to recover from her experience on Centauri Prime. Her body had healed relatively quickly, but her mind had taken much longer to heal, and it was still scarred from the experience. Whereas once she believed only in herself, the dungeons had broken her spirit, and she had only dragged herself from the resulting deep, dark depression by slowly turning the pages in G'Kar's book. She didn't take all of his words to heart – she was far too practical for that – but his words had given her hope after she had returned home – and hope was something that had been sorely lacking during those terrible days in the dungeon. She was not a rabid follower of G'Kar, for she knew him too well, but she cherished his thoughts and the eloquent words preserved in his published volumes. She also felt an inherent sense of duty toward the former ambassador-turned-prophet, and she guarded his legacy closely. Indeed, it was a mutually born respect, for he had named her the chief executor of his will.

She knew that G'Kar had been held on Centauri Prime for almost a year, and although it was shocking that he had died, it wasn't entirely unexpected after her own experience there. Yet, until she received the news, she had held out hope for his release and repatriation. But the ominous conditions on Centauri Prime and the Emperor's decree banning all off-worlders had not boded well for his future there. Nevertheless, she knew that something of an odd friendship had sprung up between G'Kar and Emperor Mollari, even though they had been bitter enemies and rivals during her time on Babylon 5. The change was still incomprehensible, but she had seen it herself when they had rescued her from the dungeon chamber, so she knew it was not a mere rumor that the Narn prophet and the Centauri Emperor had come to some sort of mutual truce, and G'Kar had been a vehement supporter of finding some permanent solution to the troubles between their peoples; although, as he had once glibly said, "If the Centauri fell off the end of the universe, it would improve the rest of gene pool considerably."

The abrupt news of G'Kar's death had left her in shock, and she had felt the overwhelming quiet desperation that she had thought she had left in the dungeons so long ago again. Na'Toth prided herself on her fierceness as a warrior, so it surprised her when the news of G'Kar's death seemed to squeeze her own throat closed with emotion, and her breathing became labored. She refused to see a doctor, turning to the practice of meditation to relax her body, and after a few hours, she had found her breath flowing normally again, but she knew his death had greatly affected her. She had not actually seen G'Kar in some years, and when he did come to Narn, it was briefly, but every time he returned, he would quietly knock on her door, asking relief from the hordes of his followers, and they would talk like old friends, insulated from the throngs outside. The years passing between visits did not seem to alter the easy banter they fell into as soon as he arrived. And now, there would be no more of these unexpected visits.

Although Timov stood when Na'Toth entered, she immediately sat again, clearly quite pale and ill. Na'Toth couldn't believe _this_ was the Empress of the Centauri Republic. Londo Mollari was anything but fragile and breakable, but this woman – his wife – looked like she was knocking on death's door. For such a woman to come to Narn under these conditions was nothing short of insanity, but Na'Toth had given her word, and she would fulfill her promise and her duty to the Kha'Ri.

Timov could see the misgivings in Na'Toth's eyes, "I'm sure you are wondering why you are here."

"I am here because the Kha'Ri asked me to come," Na'Toth said curtly.

"Yes," Timov folded her hands. "About that. As I'm sure the Kha'Ri told you, I requested your services specifically."

Na'Toth did not reply, but her eyes flared.

"Well," Timov continued, experiencing the unknown sensation of being at a loss for words, "I understand my husband saved your life once – with G'Kar."

"It would be more accurate," Na'Toth said flatly, "to say that your husband – and your people – robbed me of several years of my life and that, after doing so, he _submitted_ to G'Kar's demand to free me."

'I see," Timov took a big breath and met Na'Toth's gaze at last. "I want you to know that I _am sorry_ for your imprisonment and your treatment at our hands. We have had many dark years on Centauri Prime. And it was not just you, Na'Toth, but I'm sure you were a witness to the many Narn and Centauri who died imprisoned in those same cells under Cartagia. And that is why I am here – to put a stop to this bloodshed that has arisen in light of the deaths of G'Kar and Londo. And I was told you are a woman of honor who may help me in this endeavor."

"Who told you this?"

Timov shook her head, "It is quite unbelievable, I can assure you." But after seeing Na'Toth's stare, she continued, "Among my people, it is said the Dowager Empress speaks with the deceased Centauri Emperor. I did not believe it myself until . . . until Londo appeared to me just before I learned of his death. And, whatever you believe, he has told me that G'Kar is with him and that G'Kar recommended you to this endeavor. G'Kar said . . . he said that if you gave your word, there was no stronger bond in the universe."

Na'Toth's eyes narrowed. She knew the Centauri were quite insane, but _this_. _This_ was true madness. Whatever disease Cartagia suffered from, it seemed to run in Centauri royal bloodlines. "I see," she said, without further remark.

"I _know_ ," Timov said again, "it must sound unbelievable. And rest assured, I am the _last_ person to believe something like this, especially without proof, so I can understand your reticence. Indeed, I would ask that you keep this conversation between us – for it does make me seem quite insane, and I do need the confidence of the people – yours and mine – just now. In any event, they have impressed upon me their insistence that I tell you the details of their plan to free you from the dungeon cells." And with that, Timov told Na'Toth of everything that was said and done from the moment Londo and G'Kar had entered her cell to the moment she had been placed upon the transport in such detail and with such accuracy that it was difficult to accept that Timov hadn't actually spoken to them about it.

"I know what you are thinking," Timov waved a hand toward Na'Toth. "You are thinking to yourself that I must have spoken with one of them prior to their deaths, but I can assure you, my husband banned me from the palace a decade ago, and I have had extraordinarily little contact with him in the years since. We had but one short conversation, and as you can imagine, the topic of your incarceration and subsequent freedom did not come up when I was telling him to rot in hell. And beyond reading the ISN reports of G'Kar's imprisonment and the occasional gossip, I knew nothing of the circumstances of G'Kar's time there."

Na'Toth was not a spiritual woman, but her people believed in other incarnations, and she had read enough of G'Kar's work to allow herself the remote _possibility_ of mysticism. Although Na'Toth took after her mother in the realm of spiritual understanding, Na'Toth had taken solace in the semi-spiritual words of G'Kar during her healing process. So, she did not have to explain the mystical or understand it, but she allowed herself the hint – the mere glint, the possibility – of the unexplainable.

However, Na'Toth would not be fooled by the mere word of a Centauri, so she tested Timov's absurd story. "If this is so, then I will ask you a question that you will ask G'Kar. Ask him what happened on the 7th day of G'Quan when he was at Babylon 5."

Timov appeared to listen for several moments before replying. "I am told that this is a misleading question, for there is no such day, but G'Kar states that you need the answer to no other question than that you have already agreed to protect all that is his, even if you are no longer his watch dog."

Na'Toth gaped, her own words coming back to her.

"And he further states that he trusts you will look after Jerrica on his behalf, since she has no living Narn parents."

Na'Toth couldn't hide her shock. A part of her still did not believe. But, significantly, a part of her could not explain how Timov could know these private conversations that she had with G'Kar some years ago. She looked at Timov in silence. If he was, indeed, here, there were so many things left unsaid, mostly things about the ridiculousness of his return to Centauri Prime and his gallivanting around the galaxy when his people needed him at home – but there were other, more personal things as well. Na'Toth did not relish protecting a Centauri, but if what Timov said was true, G'Kar had not been killed in a manner that required Chon-kar. Rather, he was explicitly trying to tell her – and his followers – that whatever end he had met had not been the murder portrayed in the ISN photos. It made some sense, considering his rapport with Emperor Mollari, a rapport that she had seen firsthand in the dungeon. After all, Mollari had helped extract her from the dungeons at great risk to his own life – although, quite honestly, if he had done nothing, he would have faced the deadly wrath of G'Kar, so his actions were hardly voluntary. It would be impossible to prove what had happened in that room between them, but if . . . ." She shook her head. Trying to rationalize herself out of this situation wouldn't work at all. She applied her focus to the problem at hand. Timov was here to make amends for whatever had happened in the throne room because Narn and Centauri were dying. Even if G'Kar had been murdered, he would not want Narn dying in vain in his memory. Whatever the circumstances, the cause, she realized, was just. So, she would lend her every effort to it.

Pushing aside these thoughts, Na'Toth thought of G'Ryka and G'Kar's will. Jerrica, officially G'Ryka, had been off-world on a scheduled trip to Earth to visit her adoptive parents, but she had immediately started the return trip to Narn at the news of G'Kar's death. She was still en route and would not be back until the following day. Her late arrival would spare her from the troubled meetings of the First Circle concerning her father, but at some point, she would want to ensure her father had been properly cared for and, as always, Na'Toth was sensitive to his legacy. Addressing Timov, Na'Toth said, "I wish to ask you a personal favor." Na'Toth looked uncomfortable even saying the words.

"Whatever I can do," Timov inclined her head.

"The Kha'Ri will request the return of G'Kar's body. I know that you did not come from Centauri Prime, so you did not bring it with you, but we would like it to be repatriated."

Timov nodded her approval, "Of course, I will do everything in my power to ensure it is returned with a full honor detail."

"No," Na'Toth said firmly. "You misunderstand. G'Kar was a man of great privacy, and he shunned the attention given to him by his earnest supporters. It will cause great angst between our peoples, but I would like you to turn down the Kha'Ri's request."

Timov straightened, knowing this could cause great strife with G'Kar's fervent supporters. "And what would you have me do with his body?"

"Send it in private to me, and I will follow the wishes he gave me long ago. It will prevent his final resting place from becoming a magnet for his followers and grant his body the peace that he requested and deserves." Na'Toth looked anxiously at Timov, knowing the request would be difficult, even under ideal conditions.

Timov considered the request thoughtfully, considering her options. "May I say that his body will be disposed of in accordance with his wishes by a Narn designated by him? Anything less and we might start further riots," Timov said slowly.

"Yes," Na'Toth agreed. "This would be acceptable to me. Of course, you should not turn down the request here, it would be unsafe to do so."

"Very well," Timov made a mental note of the preparations. "You have my word that it will be done. "You will send me the details of where and when you would like his body sent."

The tension in Na'Toth's face dissipated as she nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

Londo clapped G'Kar on the shoulder, "That went well, I thought. But tell me what you have learned," he pulled G'Kar to the corner so Timov could not hear him.

G'Kar had a deeply serious glint in his eyes, "We are both aware that Timov's presence will post certain security challenges in Moktoke. The risks en route are minimal; it is the speech itself where she will be exposed to the crowd."

"I know this already, G'Kar, what did you find out?" Londo's brow furrowed.

G'Kar stared at the floor a moment before meeting Londo's eyes, "There is a cell within Moxtoke that actively and violently lobbies for Centauri blood. They are not a large cell – most of their members are known to the security forces, and Na'Toth has already coordinated with the security services to have the known members rounded up and questioned in advance of Timov's arrival. But . . . ."

"But?" Londo searched his eyes, "But what?"

"During questioning, one member indicated that there had been some plans in the works in case any prominent Centauri visited." Londo paled, but G'Kar continued, "Those plans have been effectively dismantled, but the group is not a cohesive unit. There are younger Narn recruited by word-of-mouth who are less . . . trackable. The plaza where the speech will take place will be heavily guarded, and each person will be searched, but if there was a plan in place for such an occasion already, and the mantle is taken up by one or more of these earnest but misguided youths, then there will be little way to detect them in advance. The security services suspect there may be one or more weapons hidden on the grounds. Na'Toth did everything she could to search the premises, but there is no assurance she found everything in such an expansive place, especially, as is likely, if it was a deconstructed PPG in multiple pieces that would be assembled on site."

Concern filled Londo's voice, "How serious is this threat?"

G'Kar summoned his most diplomatic tone, "It is serious enough that I am telling you about it."

Londo ground his teeth, "Well, it isn't a very concrete threat, is it? We shall have to trust the preparations are adequate."

G'Kar gestured toward Timov, "Will you tell her?"

Londo scoffed, "Tell her what? 'Narn is hardly the safest place for the Centauri Empress?' No, I'm sure Na'Toth will discuss these matters with Provi, and that is as far as it needs to go. Timov has many other things to worry about today; it will be best not to distract her. And anyway," he looked over Timov and Na'Toth, "I think that today is out of our hands and in theirs."

G'Kar agreed, reminded of how long it had been since he had seen his former aide. "I think these women may be capable of accomplishing things that we never could."

Noticing that Timov and Na'Toth had made ready to leave, the men trailed the formidable women setting off for the Capitol.

The royal entourage debarked into the hot air of Moktoke, the capitol city of Narn. The planet was doused in shades of orange and red, and a bitterly hot wind blew a layer of parched dust on everything in sight. A heavily armed security contingent fell into position around the Empress, making it hard for her to actually see any of the local sites, for tall and muscular Narn towered over her petite and gaunt figure.

Timov knew that the former agricultural planet had once been quite lush, but it had been heavily exploited for its natural resources at the hands of the Centauri. Now, the artificial weather patterns were the only intervention that could help the planet maintain what little life was left.

Timov was whisked to the foreboding and angular Capitol building where she briefly met with the leaders of the Narn Regime, including Counselor Na'Tar, who was her personal liaison for the day and who would be speaking on behalf of the Kha'Ri. Seeing the delicate condition of the Empress, Counselor Na'Tar was nonplussed, but he arranged a room where she could retire before the speeches, and he discussed other matters directly with Palco while she was resting, including the official request by the Kha'Ri to return G'Kar's body. Palco nodded agreeably, noting that the official request would need to be reviewed by the Empress, herself, at a later time. Na'Tar had received Sheridan and Delenn's independent verification of the events on Centauri Prime, and he was now satisfied the events were not as ominous as they first appeared. Now, he had to sell the same idea not only to the crowd outside but throughout the galaxy.

At the appointed hour, Timov and Counselor Na'Tar approached an exit that would allow them to walk down a short promenade to a vast but relatively insular plaza. Na'Toth's security forces had screened everyone entering, but the crowd was bursting at the plaza's seams.

Just before the party was ready to walk out and address the crowd, Londo glanced at the new handwriting Timov had scratched at the bottom of the speech while she had been waiting. His eyes widened in shock, "What is this?" he stepped in front of Timov, impeding her forward motion.

She gave him a glare, trying to step around him, but he would not allow her to pass. Finally, she turned to Na'Toth, "I'm so sorry, but would there be a ladies' room nearby?"

Na'Toth had the guards clear a nearby restroom, and Timov spun on her heel as soon as the door closed. "Londo, how can I continue this charade if you keep questioning me when I am surrounded by people?"

Londo ignored her question again pointing to the speech, "You cannot do this."

"And why not?" she demanded. "What better time than now?"

"No," his face grew firmer. "You do not understand. The political situation right now is very tense with all that has happened. The Centaurum won't stand for it. They are barely holding together, and this may rupture the remaining government completely. You may lose the people, and it could end up hurting Vir's chances for the crown." He placed a pleading hand on her wrist, "Please, it will be done one day – Vir will take care of it – when the time is right. You have no idea what may happen to the Republic's future if you foolishly decide to do this today."

"I understand perfectly well," Timov replied, her tone challenging as she shook her wrist loose from his grasp. "Three words never brought a country to its knees, and I doubt these three will start a new trend. This is _exactly_ the right time. I have the love of the people right now as you, yourself, said yesterday – and it is well known that rulers enjoy such unity for only a short moment after the death of an emperor. The people will not challenge me at this time. More importantly, it is _the right thing to do_. And even if all the people cannot see that yet, they will still support me in their grief in the face of everything that has happened. We are facing the Drakh as a people, and the people will not become divided in the face of such an adversary. The Centaurum will have no choice – they will not be able to oppose a nation which supports me. And, as you say, _one day_ could be very far off. Vir will have to work for _years_ to find the political will within the Centaurum to support it. What better time than now? If there is any negative effects, Vir will be insulated from them because it is an action that I will take without his aid. The old guard will write it off as a grieving widow's ill-informed actions, but it _will already be done_. No one can undo it." She studied him curiously for a moment, "Do you disagree that it should be done in the first place?"

Londo frowned, his face growing darker, "No, I do not disagree. But, I think that . . . ."

"Good, because you," Timov cut him off, poking a finger in his chest, "personally, owe it to these people. It is a sad day that Londo Mollari would leave such responsibilities to someone else when he had a dubious hand in them. Now, the people are waiting for this address – an address I might add, that you asked me to leave my deathbed to come here and make. Will you let me go and do it already?"

Londo scowled, but he could not argue with her reasoning. He also could not help but marvel at her courage. He was sure she would take on all of Centauri Prime, if she had to, in this cause, but she was right about having won the hearts of the people at a time when the Drakh had given their people a common unity. And she was right that it was his responsibility – though she would bear it for him. It would relieve Vir of the burden, the Centaurum would not be able to oppose her authority in the matter if she had the people's support, and it would be done. It was something that should have been done long ago. "All right," he moved out of her way, having been humbled again by the small, pallid woman who stared at him with a fire and intensity he had known from no one else.

Londo followed her out, "You see what happens when a woman has the throne, even for a few days?" His tone lightened significantly as he teased her.

"Exactly," she said tersely, marching toward Counselor Na'Tar without a backward glance.

But as they reached the steps, Londo grew increasingly troubled at the sight of the crowd. Although it was filled with curious Narn, Londo could palpably feel a thinly veiled sentiment of anger and hostility running through the crowd. There was a dangerous electricity in the air, and he did not like that its sights were set squarely on Timov.

G'Kar was striding through the crowd of his countrymen. Na'Toth had security forces deposited within the crowd, and she had already been radioed several suspect conversations. There was no doubt that there were dissenters within the crowd, but how riled up they might get was anyone's guess. G'Kar could weave through the crowd with ease, listening to the murmurings of individuals with disgruntled looks. Periodically, he would turn and signal to Mollari that everything was all right.

Na'Toth was monitoring her security forces' radios. She knew the plaza was a powder keg, and if it blew, she could only contain it. She had done everything in her power in the short time she had been given to secure the area, including a search of every single individual allowed in the expansive plaza, which was now packed, and she had hand selected every guard to ensure her ability to maintain them if anything went south.

Counselor Na'Tar approached the podium first, addressing the crowd on behalf of the Kha'Ri and welcoming the Empress to the Narn homeworld. At this, there were several audible boos from the crowd, and the crowd's rancor was clearly rising. Counselor Na'Tar glanced at the security forces in case they decided to call off the event, but they were taking their cues from him, and the agent-in-charge of Kha'Ri security said nothing. Even the look on G'Kar's face was taunt as he strode through the crowd, homing in one group of particularly Luddite-looking Narn. Na'Toth had also spotted the group from her vantage point, but her radios were cutting in and out with some sort of interference, so she handed the radio to her first-in-command and headed directly for the same spot herself.

Na'Tar gritted his teeth, knowing that as soon as he spoke of G'Kar's death, there could be blood. "All of you have seen the news," he addressed the topic head on, "less than two days ago, the leaders of our two peoples died on Centauri Prime." He deliberately neglected to mention them by name, for everyone knew exactly who had died, and he did not want to infuriate the crowd further at G'Kar's name. "As you have seen on ISN, Centauri Prime has been silently infested with Drakh for some years."

"How do we know they didn't invite them?" came a cry from the crowd. Nodding heads bobbed in agreement. The restless shuffling in the crowd signaled that they were beginning to turn into a mob. Mollari stepped closer to Timov as he scanned the rising restlessness.

Counselor Na'Tar held up a hand, silencing the crowd. "The Empress of the Centauri Republic has offered to come _here_ to set the record straight. We have reviewed not only the Centauri intelligence reports but also the reports of President Sheridan and Entil'Zha Delenn, and we can say with full confidence that the death of G'Kar was the result of the Drakh and not the Centauri." Na'Tar scanned the crowd, but they were waiting for the details, so he laid them out as they had been reported to the Kha'Ri, including reading excerpts from the reports by Sheridan and Delenn. Then, Timov read a prepared statement that reiterated the circumstances in the throne room were the fault of the Drakh infestation, and she detailed the keeper and its abilities. Withdrawing a report by Dr. Stephen Franklin, including his observations of the keeper attached to David Sheridan, she detailed the keeper's ability to take over a host's nervous system in times of great distress.

"An excuse!" came another cry from the crowd. "Centauri have always done these things – now they are just coming up with more creative excuses so they won't bear the responsibility."

G'Kar was carefully watching the Luddite group when he noticed an individual suspiciously making his way through the crowd, and G'Kar followed him noticing, almost too late, the glint of a PPG as he handed it to another Narn who had another piece of the PPG. "MOLLARI" he roared. As he did so, he saw the flash of Na'Toth diving across him, her body barreling into the horde just as the PPG fired.

Hearing G'Kar's warning, Londo's hand firmly closed on Timov's shoulder, and he dragged her downwards at the same moment a flash of light ripped through the crowd and burned the side of the podium.

Na'Toth had already wrenched the PPG from the perpetrator's hands after she had knocked him sideways, preventing him from getting a clear shot off and firing again, and her guards were closing in, but the other two Narn involved were putting up a majestic fight. After she took a brutal blow to the face, she signaled the guards to seal off the area and lock the crowd down. Narrowing her eyes, she dodged the Narn's pummeling fists and placed a vicious punch directly to the instigator's soft kidney area, bringing her attacker to his knees with one strike, and with another, she knocked him unconscious. Her guards were upon the scene in another instant, and the perpetrators were quickly dragged out of the sealed area. Any further developments were quickly quelled by the professional Narn security forces, who were well-organized and trained for just such an eventuality.

Na'Toth walked breathlessly toward the stage, looking to Counselor Na'Tar for instructions on whether he wanted the grounds cleared immediately.

Timov lay, dazed, on the ground. She was paralyzed by what had just happened, and her eyes were darting around the scene with shock.

"Timov," Londo tried to catch her attention with a gentle but firm voice, "It is all right. I pulled you down."

But the momentary adrenalin had already been replaced with the confusion around her, and she paid him no attention. The Narn guards on the stage crowded around her, forming a foreboding Narn shield, and in the plaza, Narn security forces prepared to clear the entire area.

Mollari caught the brief sight of G'Kar through the tightly packed Narn bodies as the guards closed in a horseshoe around Timov, and they exchanged glances. Both men knew that it was all slipping away – the one last, desperate attempt for peace between their peoples, torn from their grasp when it was closer than it had ever been. And this attempt on the Empress's life would fuel the deaths between their peoples, having the opposite effect than the one that they had wished to send through their efforts. Mollari had once announced, as a ploy to make good on his promise to withdraw the Centauri off of Narn, that the gods had cursed the Centauri's involvement with Narn – including Turhan's failed attempt at peace and Cartagia's death on Narn – but now it seemed that the curse was coming true, after all.

In that moment, Mollari knew he might lose _everything_ , but the high stakes compelled him toward the desperate gambit he was about to make. He leaned close to Timov. "Are you _so_ weak?" Mollari asked, allowing his voice to drip with disgust. At his words and tone, Timov's eyes snapped back to meet his cold gaze.

"I think I'm bleeding," she reached for her side, feeling something sticky and warm there.

Mollari's face filled with contempt, "It is a mere _scratch_ from the podium." He gestured to the podium. "It was _I_ who pulled you down, and you are now the embodiment of the Centauri people. Have I left the Centauri people _so pathetic_ that they cannot stand the smallest of falls? Or is it _only you_?"

Timov's eyes narrowed in anger. Now, he had her full, undivided attention.

He stood up, looming over her. "You will _get up_ ," he coldly commanded, a hard look of dispassion settling over his features. "You will show the Narn such a _trifle_ does not sway the will of the Centauri Republic, _even if_ a fragile woman speaks for them. If you truly want peace for our people, you must seize it. No one will hold your _delicate hand_ in this venture."

Timov's face became flushed, and anger was pulsing in her veins. She would have throttled Mollari if it were possible, but such an act would have made her look quite insane to the Narn onlookers. Furious, she got her feet under her. Provi and a nearby Narn, seeing her determination to rise, immediately assisted her to her feet.

Mollari leaned forward, whispering in her ear. "You will instruct the Counselor that the Narn security forces should not clear the plaza because you wish to finish your speech. You will pretend as if _nothing_ has happened. And _you will_ finish this speech, even if it _kills_ you. And then," he pointed toward the waiting transport, "you will get on that transport, and you will go home."

Timov glanced at him again, seething. Her anger had given her tunnel vision, and in her anger, she focused on the task at hand with a furious clarity. She hurled each word through clenched teeth, "Get away from me." Provi, believing the message was for him, stepped back in a hurry, giving her space at the sound of her angry tone. Londo also stepped back, fading out of her immediate space.

G'Kar quietly appeared next to Londo, observing the scene for a moment in silence. Then, he quietly remarked, "I sometimes forget how cold-blooded you can be, Mollari." Londo said nothing. He clasped his hands behind his back, his dispassionate eyes on Timov. G'Kar noticed Mollari had perfected the dead stare of a corpse, so G'Kar left him there as he again scanned the crowd in case there were any further developments.

Beneath the mask of indifference painted on his face, Londo felt ill, but he did what he had always done – what needed to be done. It would cost him everything, but then, he had lost everything before.

Timov spun around, waiving off the doctors arriving at her side. "It is a mere _scratch_ ," she said firmly, echoing Londo's words. "We will finish what we came here to do." She turned to Counselor Na'Tar. "And we would prefer your people see that we shall not be swayed."

Counselor Na'Tar couldn't believe his ears. _This little thing_ had just had an attempt on her life – confirmed by the burn marks on the podium and yet she was going to _go on with the speech_. If she wished, he would not deny this little warrior's request. Perhaps there were Centauri – a few perhaps – that had _some_ redeemable qualities, after all.

Na'Tar signaled to the security guards to sweep the plaza again but to allow the onlookers to stay. He exchanged glances with Na'Toth, and though she was bleeding from her gums, she nodded back. The Narn at the center of the attack had been knocked unconscious and taken away as quietly as possible, and his comrades had also been arrested and removed. There was shock in the crowd, but many were eager to see what would happen next, and they could not see the damage done to the stage.

Timov inhaled, trying to breath out all the anger Londo had stirred in her. She placed a hand on her hip as if in a show of resilience, but it was an attempt to cover the pain she felt on her side. Now her focus was crystal clear. She did not care about the throbbing wetness pinched down between her fingers, in fact, she relished the stunned stares of the nearby Narn who thought she would falter after such an attempt on her life.

She stepped in front of the podium again. "This is exactly why we need peace between our peoples – because we cannot go on killing each other. Someone must stop this cycle of violence. Someone must say 'Enough.' That is why the Kha'Ri has generously allowed me to come here today. And why your own warriors have just thrown their bodies in front of deadly weapons for me. For this cause – the cause of peace where conflict has arisen as the result of a terrible misunderstanding. You know, now, the facts behind the deaths of our two leaders who were not engaged in murderous intent but, rather, in the hope that Centauri Prime would be freed from the plague that is the Drakh: the Drakh that almost destroyed Earth, that almost destroyed the Alliance, and that have decimated the lives of so many. And now they have claimed two more lives. Would you allow them to claim even more as they spread confusion and panic? We are asking, together, that you do not empower the Drakh by donating any more lives to their cause."

She bit her lip, squeezing her hip harder. She felt iron willpower propel her through her next words. "There is something else we would like to say," Timov pushed aside her prepared speech, "something that has been long overdue. G'Kar and my husband had a relationship of mutual respect, but my people have not always treated your people with the respect that a nation deserves." She felt the entire crowd inhale. "There can be no words to bring back your loved ones or return to you the years lost by the actions of my people. But we cannot forge a future if we cannot acknowledge the past. So, on behalf of the Centauri Republic, we offer you our heartfelt apology for the crimes of our past against your people. It is an apology for the present misunderstanding over the gift given to us in the form of G'Kar's friendship. It is an apology for the future when you read the hateful words of misguided Centauri that cling to the past with desperation. It is an apology for _all time_ because our people are stronger together, united in the common cause of civilization, than we are apart. _We are sorry._ " She let the words sink in, silence having struck the crowd.

Timov licked her brittle and dry lips. "And in the spirit of our apology, we are aware that G'Kar's meditative candles still burn in his quarters in our palace. We have asked that the flame of these candles be preserved. We will transport the flame that he lit to Quadrant 14 which lies, as you know, between our home worlds and where a Narn colony was destroyed in the conflict between our people. With the Kha'Ri's permission, the Centauri Republic will build a memorial to G'Kar there in the form of an eternal flame lit by his own candle of knowledge. We have technology that can transform the disaster that is currently located in Quadrant 14 – which no longer offers any possibility of settlement – into a blue sun. A blue sun burns hotter than other suns which makes its flame delicate and easily lost. As such, natural blue suns are notoriously rare throughout the Galaxy – only a handful are known to exist, and the deepest blues are the rarest. We believe an artificial dark blue sun would stand out in the night sky of both our people's worlds not only to properly memorialize all that G'Kar has meant to the Narn and now to the Centauri, but it will serve as a symbol of his memory. This blue sun will burn as an eternal flame in recognition of past deeds that cannot be undone but will be remembered with regret and sadness, in gratitude for all the present moments granted to us, and in our hope for a future of mutual respect. He will be there, every evening when our own suns go down, visible from both Narn and Centauri Prime, to remind us that there are principles greater than us all. Principles worth dying for.

"In doing this, we outstretch our hand in friendship and hope that G'Kar's memorial will light the way in a world that often seems so empty and black, a moment of hope in a world that often takes all hope from us. We do not require a reply to our outstretched hand. It is not our place to do so. We merely offer it as a symbol of our sorrow over the past and hope that one day, we will be united as friends and mutual partners."

"And," Timov added, gathering herself, "we have signed a royal decree preserving G'Kar's quarters as he left them in our palace. They are to be kept this way into living memory, to honor his sacrifice on behalf of my own people and as a reminder of all that was done, how far we have come, and how far we have _yet to go_. When it is safe, which I hope will be soon, we will welcome the Narn people to Centauri Prime to visit the planet to which G'Kar often returned, for both good and ill results. And we hope that perhaps the friendship that he had with my husband will be a symbol for our people into the future and for all time. In light of this, I am today rescinding the ban on outworlders on Centauri Prime."

Timov looked up, scanning the crowd at last before she folded the speech still lying on the podium before placing it primly in her hands.

G'Kar surveyed the silent crowd. "So this is why you do not allow your women to be diplomats?" he asked, impressed. "I would not have believed it," he added. "She has brought a crowd of warriors to their knees." G'Kar shook his head, taking in the sight. "I do not know what the personal cost of today will be after your words to her, Mollari, but once, I told you that our people could never forgive your people, and . . ." he thought for a moment, still reeling at the sight. "It is possible, with the right leadership, that I was wrong, and there is hope yet. For today, at least," he poked Mollari's forearm, "for today, I think that any of these warriors would step in front of any further PPG attacks for her, so you needn't worry about her safety." But seeing Mollari's darkened expression, G'Kar stopped in his tracks. "What is it?" He glanced to where Mollari was staring, which was at Timov's side, and then he glanced back to Mollari himself. "I thought she hit the podium on her way down?"

Very slowly, Mollari met G'Kar's eyes. "She did not hit the podium."

G'Kar shook his head in confusion, "But you said it was a scratch?"

"It is not a scratch," Mollari said slowly, with weight.

G'Kar's eyes widened when he understood Mollari's meaning. "She needs a doctor," he hissed.

"Yes," Mollari replied grimly. "And yet, she has sent her personal physician away. I know there are no Narn doctors in the Capitol of Centauri Prime. Would you have Centauri doctors in Moxtoke? I would imagine not. So . . ." Mollari continued his dead stare, "that is where we stand."

As seriousness hardened his features, Mollari glanced past G'Kar at the crowd, and his face paled. "No, it can't be!" He pushed past G'Kar, positive that he had seen a certain wisp of a woman disappearing through the crowd. And he stood there contemplating what it was like to stand on the brink of a terrible cliff that would take everything from him, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prophetess Supreme is discussed in a "canon" story called "the Shadow of His Thoughts" by JMS, and G'Ryka is discussed in a "canon" story called "True Seeker" by Fiona Avery.


	12. The Price of Duty

_"_ _Now he realized the truth: that sacrifice was no purchase of freedom . . . . carrying with it not a guarantee but a responsibility, not a security but an infinite risk. Its very momentum might drag him down to ruin - the passing of the emotional wave that made it possible might leave the one who made it high and dry forever on an island of despair."_

\- F. Scott Fitzgerald, _This Side of Paradise_

Timov stepped back from the podium, her breaths tumbling over each other faster and faster as she felt herself becoming lightheaded. In the quietness of the hushed crowd, she nodded at Na'Tar that she was ready to depart, and he gestured her back toward the looming building behind them. Taking a deep breath, her fierce will powered her through each agonizing step back to the capitol building, and her hand trembled as it squeezed the wound torn through her side. She placed a steadying hand on Provi who walked beside her until she disappeared through the capitol's doorway.

Once inside, Timov immediately leaned heavily on Provi, and he realized she was collapsing as her red blood smeared his bright white uniform. With wide eyes, Provi supported the Empress toward the closest couch designed for loitering visitors in the broad gallery of the capitol's main entrance. A frantic call went out for the nearby Narn physicians who had been on call for the event, and they briskly made their way through the guards to the Empress's side. Her face had paled significantly, and she slowly peeled back her right hand from the energy burn which had seared her side, just above her hip bone. As she removed her bloodied hand from the painful wound, her warm lifeblood followed forth, and only then could the tight group of guards and bystanders see the existing dark stains caused by the weeping wound against the dark, torn fabric of her dress.

Provi called for Luccia, who had been idly waiting nearby for the speech to end, and flashing her credentials, she pushed her way through the Narn guards. Kneeling in front of the Empress, Luccia prayed that the burn had not seared the artery that wrapped around a Centauri woman's torso, for if it had, there might be little chance to save her unless there were blood supplies and physicians knowledgeable of Centauri physiology nearby.

Na'Toth, seeing the developing situation, knew that there was a small clinic one floor below them designed for dignitaries and other emergencies in the capitol building, so she swallowed the blood still seeping from her gums and sent several guards ahead to secure the corridors. The rest of the security contingent formed a phalanx around the Empress's entourage, and Timov was immediately whisked away to the clinic. While Provi and Luccia assisted her to one of the clinic beds in the largest room in the clinic – a small surgical room – the Narn guards outside stationed themselves at critical vantage points to secure the area under the watchful eye of Na'Toth.

* * *

Watching the procession retreat into the building, G'Kar turned to Londo. The crushing fear on Londo's face when he thought that he had seen Cassiella disappearing through the crowd had already faded from his face, replaced with the dull and haunted look of a man who had been resigned to watching himself be buried alive. "You're not going with them?" G'Kar asked quietly.

Londo's unseeing gaze stared through the crowd, but at G'Kar's question, Londo's eyes dropped to the ground. "No."

"Mollari," G'Kar growled disapprovingly, "you should go."

In a barely discernable gesture, Londo shook his head. "I do not think that I would be welcome."

G'Kar put a hand on Londo's shoulder, comprehending what Mollari had offered up in sacrifice for peace between their people. Not only had he offered his recaptured love, but if the Empress died because of the precious moments spent giving the speech, her death would be on his hands as well. As apparent as this was to G'Kar, it was clearly even more apparent to Mollari, for it was written in the desolation in his face and the slump of his body. G'Kar could not fault him, though, for his decision when everything seemed lost. He had weighed, perhaps in an instant, the dream of peace and the cost required to obtain it. And Mollari had sacrificed love and life, choosing the good of the many over the good of the few at great personal cost. "She needs you," G'Kar offered, "If not you, then who?"

Mollari finally broke his plaintive stare toward the ground and met G'Kar's eyes, "If she needed me, she would call."

* * *

There was a flurry of activity in the small clinic. The Narn physicians had relatively little experience with Centauri physiology, but they had protracted experience with PPG wounds. During the speech, the PPG blast had burned through the podium, and only the dual action of Na'Toth's shoulder into the gunman's aim and Londo's swift yank had saved Timov from receiving a fatal PPG blow directly to the torso. The podium had taken the brunt of the blast, but the askew shot had glanced off the very edge of her right torso, searing through flesh and leaving a small but gaping hole as well as a radiating vapor burn. The resultant wound had, indeed, nicked her artery, and she was losing lifeblood by the moment. Although she was in great pain from the burns, the pressure she had applied had likely prolonged her life until she collapsed in the clinic, and the doctors carefully applied pressure to stop the bleeding while they discussed their very limited options.

What she needed, the doctors knew, was a blood transfusion. It was possible that there was some frozen Centauri blood supplies on the planet, but Moxtoke had only recently become a relatively important city when the capitol was moved there. It did not have the vast arrays of medical supplies present in many of the other older hospitals located in larger continental settlements. Rather, Moxtoke's facilities were new and unlikely to have old remnants of the Centauri occupation, which had ended almost two decades before. On top of that, the viability of even frozen blood supplies generally expired after one decade, so even if blood could be located, it was well past its expiration point.

Timov was rolling in and out of consciousness, and she drowsily turned her spinning head. She looked through blearily eyes at the bodies around her and softly asked, "Londo?"

The nearest Narn physician bared his teeth with nervousness. The Centauri Empress was already showing signs of confusion and delirium. The Narn realized, only now, that the topical pain reliever might not agree with Centauri physiology, but it had already been applied to the wound. "Four hundred cc's of melotilonoxin," he signaled for an intravenous injection of a pain reducing drug known to work on both Narn and Centauri physiology. A nearby attendant dashed to the supply room at the end of the hall. Inside the supply room was a large, walk-in medical refrigerator which contained the cooled drugs.

* * *

On the plaza, Mollari heard Timov's whisper to him as clearly as if she had said it directly in his ear, and he threw a thumb over his shoulder to let G'Kar know Timov was calling. Londo spun on his heel and hastened down the path to the capitol building with G'Kar at his elbow. G'Kar, having been a member of the Kha'Ri, knew the building well, and he led Londo through its maze toward the clinic.  They made their way down the ceremonial stairs and through the winding basement hallways past the vigilant Narn guards to the clinic where they slipped in behind an attendant, finally making it to the clinic's inside hallway. There, they trod past the exam rooms to the surgical room in which Timov lay. To get in, they had to dodge a multitude of imperial, medical, and Kha'Ri staff along with the Narn security stationed watchfully throughout the hallway. At Na'Toth's direction, the security forces were also actively and forcibly clearing each individual not on the medical staff out of the immediate vicinity of the surgical room, leaving a crush of bodies to be dodged at every turn.

Mollari arrived breathless at Timov's side. "I'm here," Mollari stood near her, but he stayed well out of the way of the attending physicians.

Though dizzy and light-headed, Timov made out Londo's figure hovering nearby. In a voice devoid of strength, she mustered her clipped and disapproving voice, "You must think I'm an absolute imbecile," she reprimanded him, "and a shrinking violet." The primary Narn physician at her side, though busy with her vitals and a survey of her wound, patted her hand and added, "No, no, your Highness, you were unbelievably strong – you were more Narn than Centauri out there."

Ignoring the doctor's comment, Mollari frowned at Timov's suggestion, "I do not think you are an imbecile," he replied in a heavy tone. "And the _last_ phrase I would use to describe Timov, daughter of Algul, would be a shrinking violet."

Timov scoffed, although she immediately regretted expending any energy to do so. "You think I don't know what you were doing. I know _perfectly_ _well_."

The doctors glanced at each other. "We're just attending to your wound, your Majesty. We've given you a topical anesthesia, and we are injecting you with a pain medication that should relieve you of the pain shortly."

Londo eyes lightened significantly at Timov's statement that she was fully aware of his motives, "Am I so transparent?" he said, with some amount of relief. "I had to . . ." he raised his fists and shook them, "fire you up. I did not know what else to do. Of course I did not mean those things."

"I know," she closed her eyes, sighing as she lost consciousness. At this, Londo rubbed his weary face. It should have made him feel better that she could see right through him, but still, he felt troubled and ashamed by what he had done to her. He had, of course, not properly thought through all of the consequences of his rash actions, and her present discomfort weighed heavily on him as he watched the chaotic scene.

Listening to the doctor's discussion of their limited options, Londo observed that although the burn wound was not as severe as he had imagined, it was the continuing loss of blood that was threatening her life. Unless she received a blood transfusion, she might die there, where she lay. He followed Luccia out of the room as she quietly informed one of the attendants that, in addition to all the other troubles of finding a blood supply, Timov had a very rare Centauri blood type, so it was even more unlikely they would find any quantities of it, let alone what they might need.

Hearing this, Londo narrowed his eyes and strode toward the back of the clinic, barreling through the unoccupied rooms. G'Kar found him surveying the back rooms with a dangerous gaze. "I don't like that look at all, Mollari," he said.

"We must lure Luccia back here," he nodded. "Yes, I think we can do it here."

"Do what?" G'Kar had a foreboding sense of whatever Mollari might say next.

"G'Kar," Londo pointed toward a few tubes and viles nearby, "Timov and I happen to share a rare blood type."

G'Kar passively stared at Mollari for a moment before the weight of what Londo was suggesting hit him. G'Kar's eyes widened with trepidation, "No."

"Yes," Mollari said, "we do."

G'Kar replied with a warning hand thrown up, "I believe you when you say that you share a blood type, what I am saying is _no_ , you absolutely cannot do what you are suggesting. You _cannot_ apparate. There are _severe_ consequences for doing so. You _know_ this."

"Ah, but here is the rub, G'Kar. I am _going_ to apparate," Mollari's eyes smacked of desperation and insanity, a dangerous duo.

"Mollari," G'Kar knew the situation was turning even more serious as the seconds ticked by, and now his concern had grown by leaps and bounds. What Mollari was suggesting was deadly. "There is no reason to do so. Our bodies are made of energy, not flesh and blood. There is no telling whether you can accomplish _anything_ by apparating. It is unlikely that once apparated, your blood will be of any use to her."

Mollari's intense gaze reflected his set jaw. "Likely, unlikely, pah! Have you ever apparated for the purpose of giving your blood to someone? No. So, you do not know what will or will not happen."

"Neither do you." G'Kar wondered how he was going to talk Mollari out of this desperate gambit, which was already making his last gamble back on the stage pale by comparison.

"Yes," an irrational grin spread on Londo's face, "but I am willing to risk it."

"You are not _risking_ , Mollari, you are _condemning_ _yourself_. And for what? So that Timov will have a few spare years? Years that, in the long run, she may not get anyway. This little proposition of yours may not work to extend her life by one minute, and even if it does, she is headed back to Centauri Prime. It is not the tropical pleasure cruise you make it out to be. There could be an assassin who blows out her flame of life as soon as she returns there. If she dies today, she will go beyond the rim. If you are ground into nothingness because you apparate against the Universe's prohibition, you will not be beyond the rim - you will be as nothing, nowhere, nonrevivable."

Mollari scoffed at G'Kar's comments, "Do not speak to me of being beyond the rim. There are no promises there."

"Oh, I know," G'Kar replied. "I have seen the Centauri pantheon. It is unbelievable that a criminal such as Cartagia lives on as a god. If you care to enlighten me about what his redeeming qualities are and how he could end up in the pantheon of any culture, I would be interested since I found no redeeming qualities in him, whatsoever."

Mollari glared at G'Kar. "I will not argue with you about Cartagia. I agree that if Cartagia can be a god, then anyone can be a Centauri god. A vile sewer rat could be a god. I do not defend the Centauri pantheon in that matter. But, as for the prohibition, you are aware that there are exceptions." Mollari listed them off on his fingers, "In a temple before the priests, in visions and dreams, if no one actually sees you or it is done in such a fashion that you do not reveal your godhood, before children – but apparating is not even required for children because no one believes them anyway. There are others I am forgetting, I am sure."

With as much equanimity as he could muster, G'Kar asked, "And which one of those will you apply here?"

Mollari laughed mirthlessly, "None of them. If I have to cut an artery open myself and drain it into the nearest vessel, I will do it."

G'Kar growled with an accusatory finger wagging at Londo's chest, "It is not like you to put your neck on a platter. I thought your sense of self-preservation was greater than a patently senseless martyrdom in the cause of your ego."

"I do not know what will happen. The Universe treated me like a prodigal son when I thought I would face damnation – so, should I believe this will be my end? That I will be ground into nothingness because we have been warned that is the penalty for breaking this rule of the Universe? I have already been granted these moments that I never believed I would have. So, I have gained something from nothing, even if I am ground into nothingness. But, in truth, neither of us knows what will happen."

"You do not _KNOW_ ," G'Kar roared at him, "That is exactly my point. I have seen you lie many times," his eyes hardened into ice, "but I have never seen you lie _to yourself_." Letting his words sink in, G'Kar saw that they would not move Mollari from his path. "Even if you care nothing for yourself, what of me? You made a bargain, and I am destined to fulfill that bargain with you."

Mollari stared at G'Kar. He clearly had not contemplated that his actions might affect G'Kar's fate. But after a moment, he waved a dismissive hand, "No, that deal was expressly made for our next assignment. My damnation for something I willfully choose to do in the intervening time will not affect you. It cannot. If anyone is punished, it will be me, alone."

The two men stood toe-to-toe, glaring at each other. "G'Kar, you think that I have no moral sensibilities at all. That this is about my ego. But there, you are wrong. There are certain matters that I cannot let stand. This is one such matter of honor." Londo gestured toward the plaza, "I made a decision out there about priorities – _my_ priorities. The priority of peace between our people. Now that I have attended to that, I may attend to this personal matter. It was I that _decided,_ not her. It is my duty and my right to bear the consequences of that decision. It does not matter if it wins one hour, one day, one year." The anger melted from his face, replaced by raw determination. "You cannot change this."

G'Kar's red eyes flashed brighter, "I don't understand why you always insist upon making everything worse. It is as if you have learned nothing from your time in the rim."

Mollari clenched his jaw. " _Please_ ," he said derisively, I do not need your lectures, G'Kar. Now, leave me be. I have some things I must do."

G'Kar ominously blocked the doorway. "I cannot let you do this."

"Get . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . way," Mollari let each word linger with a threatening tone of deadly serious intensity that G'Kar had not seen directed his way for many, many years. After a moment's contemplation, G'Kar stepped aside slowly, unable to stop the fire burning before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In "Soul Mates" Timov donates some of her blood, which is a rare Centauri blood type, to save Londo's life.


	13. Goodbyes and Hellos

_The lawn_  
_Is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return_  
_Gently at twilight, gently go at dawn,_  
_The sad intangible who grieve and yearn..._  
\- T.S. Eliot _("To Walter de la Mare")_

As Londo strode toward the doorway, G'Kar suddenly placed a restraining hand in front of him. "Wait," G'Kar commanded. At Londo's look of wrath, G'Kar calmly added, "I have an idea."

As G'Kar explained his idea, Mollari's look of wrath faded, and finally, he assented. "Fine. We will try it your way. I do not know if it will work, but . . . ." He shrugged. "There is nothing to lose by trying it – except your life as well."

* * *

A short while later, Londo was bent over, hands on knees, ready to wretch, and G'Kar had a hand on the wall, supporting himself as his other hand was on his chest, feeling similarly ill. "I forgot how heavy a body was," G'Kar sputtered.

"Gravity," Londo coughed heavily, trying to keep his insides from becoming his outsides. "And yours," he threw an accusatory finger toward the Narn while still keeled over. "Yours is the worst of all. You have three times the gravity of Centauri Prime. It's a wonder I can even breathe."

"Sometimes I wish you wouldn't," G'Kar said dryly as he closed his eyes, trying to regain his own momentum. "Besides," he opened his red eyes, scanning the darkened room, "it just goes to show how the Centauri emperor, the _puissance_ of the Centauri, is _the_ prime example of Centauri weakness." But G'Kar's dry observations on the Centauri were interrupted when he heard a jovial chuckle emanating from Londo.

"Look what I found," Londo stumbled forward, withdrawing a bottle of brivari hidden behind the medical supplies at knee level. "Perhaps not all Narn are entirely tasteless, eh?" He popped the cork and inhaled the warm smell. "Oh, yes," a grin spread over his face, "I feel that my temporary aversion to the delights of this little brown liquid has abated. The aroma is even more delightful than I remember – and this isn't even _good_ brivari." He took a healthy swig and passed it to G'Kar who also threw back the bottle. Between them, they demolished half the bottle, and after receiving it back from G'Kar, Mollari recapped it, tucking it away on a shelf as he boomed, "I'll be back for you, my little nectar of the gods."

"Mollari," G'Kar hissed, "Are you capable of lowering your voice? Someone may hear you and recognize it."

Londo's brow furrowed. "My voice? You are worried about someone recognizing _my_ voice? There are far more Narn here who can recognize you and _your_ voice. Gods help us if someone recognizes you. The Narn will be unbearable, _wailing_ about seeing their risen messiah for centuries."

G'Kar rolled his eyes. "Listen, Mollari, if you could at least try disguising your voice to speak without an accent, it might prevent you from being recognized by your voice alone. If we are discovered as our true selves, it is the end of us both."

Londo chuckled heartily, "What accent? _I_ do not have an accent. If anyone has an accent, it is you and your Narn accent in Standard. I didn't want to tell you this, but I have to tell you that your Centauri accent needs . . . work."

G'Kar's face fell into a glower. "If we are commenting on language skills, _you_ should not be rolling your R's in Narn. It makes you sound like a struggling pouchling." In the middle of their exchange, G'Kar and Londo heard footsteps coming toward them, and after a peak into the hallway, G'Kar pushed Londo behind the door as he nodded. "We are lucky. It is Luccia. I think she is coming to look through the medical supplies. If we can compel her assistance, she can take your blood." Jabbing Mollari's arm, he whispered, "Say _nothing_." With a look of warning, he added, "I know it will be a mighty struggle for you."

G'Kar tucked himself next to the storage shelves adjacent to the door, and as expected, Luccia walked into the storage room, trying to find the light with one hand, but as she did so, strong and forceful Narn arms grabbed her from behind. Her eyes widened in terror, but she could not scream because a gloved hand immediately clamped tightly over her mouth, binding her head still. As G'Kar moved her forward and away from the door, she heard the ominous sound of the door shutting and locking behind her. "Do not be afraid," G'Kar tried to reassure her, "as long as you remain calm and do not scream, I will not hurt you." He could feel her dual hearts about to burst out of her chest, and suddenly she felt heavy fabric pulled over her face, making a blindfold.

Londo stepped back, frowning at the fright of the young woman, but he was pleased that there was little possibility that Luccia would see through the medical smock he had just secured around her head. As G'Kar continued to hold the trembling woman under his iron grip, Londo turned on the light switch. While nodding, he threw his hands up at G'Kar, indicating there wasn't much more to do short of knocking her out.

G'Kar pulled the dainty woman toward a chair, and she could feel his cold Narn armor biting into her back. "Listen, Luccia," he told her quietly, "I understand that you are a nurse, and I saw what happened in the plaza. It so happens there is a Centauri on Narn who wishes to remain nameless but who has the same blood type as the Empress. He is here with me now, and he would like to donate his blood, but he cannot do so unless he remains anonymous. Do you understand?"

Luccia gulped several times, nodding at last. The warm Narn breath on her neck terrified her, but somehow the words didn't match what she feared would happen to her next. "Good," G'Kar tried to soothe her terror. "Now, I am not a phlebotomist, and my friend here is not the brightest bulb in the bunch, so neither of us are equipped to properly extract Centauri blood to ensure it is not contaminated. That is where you come in."

Mollari glared at G'Kar's words as he threw off his coat and waistcoat, laying them aside. He rolled up his sleeve to the shoulder and dragged a chair from the corner before taking his place in it.

G'Kar continued his explanation to Luccia, "I cannot impress upon you enough that we are trying to _save_ the Empress's life and no harm will come to you. In fact, we will let you go as soon as we have collected the blood. I am going to remove my hand, and when I do, I need you to remain calm and quiet. If we are revealed to the soldiers next door, our lives will be forfeit and, very likely, so will the Empress's. We are trying to _help_ , and we need your assistance to walk us through this process. Do you understand?"

Luccia nodded slowly, but she was shaking harder than before. G'Kar and Londo exchanged glances, and very slowly, ready to reclamp his hand over her mouth if needed, G'Kar removed his hand.

"Why – why don't you just let me do it for you?" she asked quietly.

G'Kar shook his head, searching the ceiling for an appropriate lie. "The Centauri before you is a _poor_ Centauri with little influence or assets. A _sad_ and _pathetic_ creature practically thrown out of his House for his _meager_ accomplishments. You might say he survived only through the deeds of others, and he is _very_ afraid the Houses opposed to the Empress will personally punish him for helping her." As G'Kar continued his insults, Londo's glare grew more annoyed, and finally he clamped Luccia's ears with his hands, preventing her from hearing his next words.

"That's not funny," he growled with aggravation in Narn to prevent Luccia from recognizing his voice in case she heard anything. G'Kar motioned for Londo to remove his hands.

As Londo dropped his hands from the woman's ears, G'Kar continued. "I practically had to drag him here, myself. So, unfortunately this is our only choice. Your assistance is the Empress's only hope. Even if, alas, she must survive on such _inferior_ blood." Meeting Londo's eyes, he sensed for a fleeting moment that the Emperor might throttle him in exasperation, but no blows were immediately forthcoming.

Luccia seemed to accept this explanation, and G'Kar brought over the items he supposed would be needed for the relatively simple procedure. Feeling each item with her hands, Luccia set aside the items G'Kar would need, instructing him in the use of each item as they prepared Mollari for the blood draw. Feeling blindly, she found Mollari's arm and she used her fingers to travel up it to the shoulder bone, and then she traced it straight down to the point of the armpit, the traditional area to easily access Centauri arteries for blood draws since, unlike many other species, Centauri did not have major arteries easy accessible from the wrists and lower arms. She instructed G'Kar on how to insert the needle, but much to Londo's chagrin, it took three stabs of the needle before the blood began to flow into the bags readied for the process. With each new stab, Londo threw G'Kar a deathglare, positive that the Narn was repeatedly jabbing him with the needle on purpose.

After talking about how much they could safely take from Londo's arm, Luccia suggested that the patient lay down to preventing passing out too quickly. They agreed that Londo would donate far more blood than usual for an individual to give in one sitting, but Luccia counseled G'Kar against taking too much blood - the result of which would be life-threatening. In truth, G'Kar and Londo had no idea what would happen if he "died" again, regardless of the myths concerning gods and their immortality. It would be better, G'Kar figured, to take a conservative tact. In any event, the amount of blood G'Kar and Luccia agreed upon would likely result in the patient passing out for a short time, but the Empress would need all the blood that could be spared. In deference to Luccia's instructions, Londo rolled up his coat as a pillow and laid out on the floor, letting his hearts do the work as blood transferred from his newly apparated body into the plastic blood bags.

A jiggle of the supply room handle and a knock at the door made all three individuals inside the room jump, but Luccia calmly called out, "I'm changing. I'll be out soon."

A Narn voice rang out, "Can you bring some melotilonoxin with you? We're running low. It should be in the refrigerator."

"Yes," Luccia replied. "Just give me a few minutes."

Noting that Londo had closed his eyes, G'Kar touched Luccia's shoulder. "I'll get it. Can I trust you not to peek? As I stated, the consequences would be dire for everyone involved."

Luccia nodded weakly, "I won't betray you." As an afterthought she added, "Because you are trying to help Empress Timov. It is a worthy cause."

G'Kar opened the walk-in refrigerator and scanned through the shelves of contents, finally locating the proper medicine. Returning, he found Luccia in exactly the same position he had left her in, her hands clasped between her knees with gleaming white knuckles squeezed together in worry. G'Kar nudged Londo with the toe of his boot, but the Emperor did not respond, and G'Kar presumed that he had already passed out from the high quantity of blood being drawn from his worldly body.

While they waited for the blood bags to fill, G'Kar located a pen and a notepad and he scratched out a short note in longhand. He folded it up in an envelope he found tucked away in the supply closet, sealed it, scribbled a name on the front, and laid it aside.

After as much blood as possible was safely withdrawn from Londo's veins, Luccia talked G'Kar though the simple process of removing the needle. After removing the needle, G'Kar gathered all the items Luccia would need for the Empress, including additional bandages and supplies.

"What will I tell the doctors?" she asked.

"Tell them," G'Kar thought for a moment, "tell them that you carry reserves with the Empress in case anything like this happens, and it has just now been delivered from the transport."

Luccia nodded, her face still blindfolded. "You may lock the door after me until he recovers, and you can safely leave. If they need anything else, I will knock like this," she knocked in a specific pattern, "and I will enter with my eyes closed."

G'Kar patted her shoulder. "Thank you," his eyes gleamed brighter. He slipped the envelope into the pocket of her frock, and as he shoved her out the door, he pulled off her blindfold. As soon as she was outside, he closed the door and relocked it behind her before she could steal a backward glance.

Turning around and looking at Londo's inert body, he frowned, "I can't believe I am actually saying this, but I would like you to _say something_." When no response came, he found the brivari bottle and uncorked it, passing the cork under Mollari's nose. Londo's eyes flickered open, and G'Kar helped him into a sitting position against one of the nearby shelves.

Mollari gestured for the bottle, and G'Kar gave it to him, watching him toss back the bottle.

G'Kar's brow furrowed in thought. "Perhaps you should not have drank the brivari before the blood draw."

"Pah," Londo took another swig. "It is good for Timov to have brivari-infused blood. She is a _Centauri_. Our bodies thrive on alcohol. For instance, if our doctors were not drinking during surgery . . . _then_ I would be concerned. Periodically there are defective Centauri in this respect, and I'm afraid Vir is one of those. He will make a terrible example as an emperor in this respect, but . . ." Londo threw up his hands, "we have had emperors defective in other areas."

G'Kar pointed at him, "Morality?"

"Oh, you and your humor are insufferable. How will I survive the stitches you are driving into my side?"

"Well," G'Kar looked around approvingly, "so far we have not been punished by the Universe. I do not think Luccia saw you or recognized my voice, so we may be in the clear."

Mollari threw back the end of the bottle and patted G'Kar's knee affectionately, "Thank you for your assistance today, my friend. I admit that sometimes you have one or two ideas worth salvaging. Not often but . . . every other lifetime or so."

G'Kar glowered. "I would appreciate it if you did not make my afterlife about having to clean up after your terrible decision-making _all_ of the time."

Londo laughed, signaling the brivari was making him feel better. He threw a finger in G'Kar's chest, "It is fate, G'Kar. Embrace it."

Some time later after the blood transfusion had been completed, Timov was recovering in the surgery room, and after Mollari had sufficiently recovered from his experience, G'Kar and Mollari changed back into their energy forms. Unseen once again, they exited the Capitol building and headed toward the preparations at the transport pad.

G'Kar breathed in the evening air of Narn. He had missed the long shadows of the late Narn evenings, and now the shadows stretched out far in front of him, the last glint of sunlight at his back. He crossed over to where Mollari was watching the transport being loaded, and they sat in silence for some minutes. At last, Mollari broke the silence, "I am baking from the outside in," he observed, fanning his waistcoat. "I don't know why Centauri are obsessed with Narn. Surely there are some tropical planets that would be more suitable for a vacation."

"You forget that Narn _was_ tropical. You mined it all out, leaving this dying planet," G'Kar dryly observed.

After some minutes watching the activity around the transport, G'Kar commented, "There's no use waiting here – it will be some time before the transport leaves." G'Kar headed for the local Moxtoke market with Mollari in tow. The evening market had just started, and it was teaming with Narn bartering for fresh fruits and vegetables. The homegrown produce was rarer and more expensive on Narn than other planets, but the vendors were cheery and good-natured.

Sporadically sprinkled throughout the market were homemade evening lanterns just beginning to throw flickering candlelight, and food vendors were cooking up the alien aroma of Narn delicacies. Strolling through the stalls, Mollari stopped several times, frowning as he realized again and again he had no ability to enjoy congenial two-way conversations with the vendors. "I may, in fact, be in hell," he said as he returned to G'Kar's side. "I cannot talk to anyone. It disagrees with me," he said with a frown.

G'Kar snorted, "Trust me – it agrees with everyone else, though I must say I pity Timov. You will drive her mad soon enough."

Londo offered up his palms with a chuckle, "There is just more of me for her to love."

G'Kar shook his head with a chagrined look, "Let me know how that works out. You may be lucky that you are already dead, for I suspect she may try to kill you soon when she realizes you must filter all of your boundless ranting through her."

Londo put a hand to his forehead in mock disapproval, "What is the point of enjoying a little alcohol if you are going to be such a buzz kill? For one moment, let me enjoy being a Centauri on Narn who is not being subjected to stones." Mollari surveyed the planet, gazing at the oddly merry Narn in the marketplace for some time before the two men turned and slowly strolled back toward the transport pad. Closing in on their destination, Londo noted, "I take it you will not be coming."

"No," G'Kar said simply. "I am staying here. I have been away from Narn too long, and I find some small pleasure in the fact that I can now walk the streets without the constant adoration of my followers. I can visit my pouch brothers, look in on my friends, but most of all, I may walk once more along the path that climbs G'Quan Mountain and see the sun set at its peak along its red twin ridges. It has been far too long since I have seen that sight."

Londo turned to G'Kar with an odd look in his eye. At long last, he said, "I imagine you will spend some time with your daughter."

"You _know_ about Jerrica?" G'Kar was shocked.

With some amount of disbelief, Londo shrugged, "Please, G'Kar, I have an _entire_ Ministry of Intelligence."

Flippantly, G'Kar scoffed, "I thought that was a bunch of kindergartners sitting in a circle with crayons and pogs."

Londo threw up his hands, "Why do I even try with you?" Sighing, he turned around to take one last look at the Narn homeworld, "Is there anyone who does not know about your daughter by now? It is only the circumstances of her mother that remain hidden to most of the world," Londo surveyed the horizon without meeting G'Kar's eyes. "It was very tragic, and I am sorry for your loss so long ago. It is a miracle that you did not kill every Centauri you met with your bare hands, but then again," he turned to G'Kar with a mirthless smile, "It seems as if you almost did, yes? But I finally understood all of those things that you did once I read the reports."

There was something unreadable in G'Kar's eyes. It was as if Londo had quietly opened an old scar, and yet, there seemed to be the air of relief, a secret long hidden, a pain too deep to be discussed. He wondered how long Mollari had kept the secret of his knowledge hidden. It was a relief, though, that Mollari had known and had concealed the information without using it against him.

"So, have you found her yet? Beyond the rim?" Londo asked quietly.

G'Kar clenched his teeth, his gleaming eyes narrowing with memories. Memories he had tried to forget for two decades. "Not yet."

"You will find her," Mollari said, with a quiet air of confidence.

G'Kar wondered if Mollari would ever mention his life mate unsolicited again. _Probably not_.

"Well," Mollari was at a loss for words. "I suppose I will see you when we are summoned, then."

"Yes," G'Kar finally tore his eyes from the landscape and looked over at Mollari, "I will see you then." The two men exchanged knowing nods, the silence again holding all that they needed to say, and at last, Mollari draped his hands behind his back, slowly making his way toward the transport, leaving G'Kar to soak in the sights and sounds of his beloved Narn Homeworld in solitude.

* * *

Na'Toth stepped over the threshold of the transport feeling secure that her final charge in this matter had been fulfilled. But just as the doors were about to slam shut, the Centauri nurse, Luccia, ran out of the transport. "Are you Na'Toth?" she asked. Na'Toth inclined her head in acknowledgement. "This," Luccia thrust an envelope into her hand, "is for you. I'm not really sure who it is from."

Na'Toth took the envelope and bid the transport goodbye. She walked outside into the recently fallen darkness of Narn as she fingered the envelope. She felt a fear seizing at her as she stared at her name. It was written in G'Kar's own unique handwriting. She wanted to open it, to read those last few words he had written her, but she feared it was a trick. Perhaps the Centauri were still toying with her mind as they had in the dungeons.

She took it home to her P'lazzo, and she laid it upon her hearth. She went to bed, and she tossed and turned for an hour thinking of what was inside – or what was not inside. She considered just burning it. It really was not worth her mental sanity. _No, first I will open it, and then I will burn it_ , she told herself, her curiosity getting the better of her. She got up and took the envelope in her hands. Slowly, gently, as if she was unwrapping a precious gift, she opened the envelope. It read:

 _Na'Toth,_  
_Ah. You opened it. I knew you would believe, after all._

She blinked. _How had he known she would open it?_ She turned it over – it was blank. There was no other writing. She turned the envelope inside out. Nothing. A guttural growl emanated from her chest. He had merely taken a chance that curiosity would get the better of her. This was no sign at all. He could have written it years ago. Or someone else might have scrawled this note after having practiced his unique handwriting. She thrust the note back onto her hearth and stalked back to her bed in annoyance.

The next morning she arose, curling her lips and baring her teeth at the note. Someone had been playing tricks on her. There was a good possibility that it was G'Kar, himself, in a note written years ago. It was just like him, really, to do such things to her after he was dead. She ignored the note for as long as she could, but then, in irritation, she stalked back to it, resolving to replace it in its envelope and bury it in her files if nothing else. But when she picked it up, her eyes widened with surprise as she noticed that there was additional writing on the stationary.

 _Na'Toth,_  
_Ah. You opened it. I knew you would believe, after all._  
_Faith, after all, is a lonely, solitary path._  
_It is best found in the quiet after the storm._  
_Walk the path that is no path._  
\- _G'Kar_

She looked around, listening to the quiet hum of her P'lazzo. She shook her head, throwing the note down. _How could she have missed the other words the night before?_ She stalked around the room, annoyed that someone was making her their toy. Now she truly felt she was going mad. But all of a sudden, something made her stop. There was no sound, no movement in her P'lazzo, but she sensed electricity in the air. She took the note again and read it and re-read it before she scanned the room again.

Finally, Na'Toth spoke to the empty room. She had never, ever in her life felt bashful, but speaking to an empty room gave her the feeling for the first time. She didn't do it only in case G'Kar was there but also as a personal goodbye, a eulogy to a lost friend. "G'Kar," she said, feeling somewhat strange talking to the emptiness, "if you think that the drippings of your pen are going to inspire some sort of religious faith in me, then . . ." she ran a finger over the note again. She knew exactly what he was trying to do – he was trying to fan the spark of faith in her chest because an essential element of faith was hope, and hope had been something that had been taken from her on Centauri Prime. He had known her long struggle, and he was trying to insure her future held happiness.

She continued, "I cannot believe I am speaking to an empty room. But if . . . _if_ you are here, then I will tell you that you have been a great spiritual leader for our people. But I have also known you as a friend. I can say that I wish that you had returned to us, our people have great need, _great need,_ of guidance such as yours. But I know you answered the true calling of your heart, and I will never fault you for doing so. I, myself, have missed you since you journeyed to the Rim so long ago. And I know that when you returned, you went to Centauri Prime. I know what being imprisoned on Centauri Prime is like, and I cannot imagine how empty your days must have felt this last year. But I can know, a little, since I felt those days myself. I do not know what drove you there or why you gave Mollari your friendship because, in all honesty, he did not deserve what you gave him, but I want to you know that we have missed you – Narn has missed you. There are already pouchlings who memorize your words. Can you imagine? They even draw Garibaldi's coffee ring as if it were the circle of life!"

She glanced at the empty room again before continuing, again feeling the strangeness of talking to an empty room. "I don't know if you are here or not. But _if you are_ , I will be happy to _prove you wrong_ about the afterlife when I am dead." She smiled to herself and inhaled a breath to relieve her emotions. "You have given our people much to consider, and I appreciate the sentiment of your words – that each individual must find one's own way in this world; that there is no one true path to knowledge. Your book is a source of knowledge and light, but it is not the only way. The search for knowledge and truth and spirituality does not end with one version. So I continue the search, with your blessing, to find the one true path that is no path. The way that is no way. And I certainly know better than to think that Citizen G'Kar of Narn is a prophet! How can one be a prophet if there is no one true path? You see, you have taught me perhaps _too_ well!"

Na'Toth scanned the room for a moment, letting the silence settle over her, feeling content in this private goodbye. "Thank you, G'Kar, for your friendship and your wisdom," she wiped the stinging tears from her eyes that she, as a fierce warrior, so seldom had felt. "You have been a father to our people and a mentor to me." She could not think of words enough to offer to G'Kar, so she said simply, "You once said that a goodbye is never a goodbye, it is merely a question mark that seeks an answer for another day. So, I will wait for you in my heart and place my faith and trust in your wisdom that perhaps the day will come when we shall be reunited in happiness."

"I will be waiting for you, Na'Toth," G'Kar answered with words she could not hear, having, for the first time in as long as he could remember, tears well in his own eyes. Not the loss of his pride, nor torture, nor death could create tears in this proud warrior, but the feeling and passion of saying goodbye to this woman, this friend, finally brought tears to his eyes.

The two warriors brought their gilded fists to their chests, saluting each as if looking into a mirror, one seeing yet dead and one unseeing yet alive.

* * *

Timov's staff had been busily attending to her recovering body after she was transferred to the transport, but now, her vitals were steady, and the staff, except a handful of night watch, had retired to bed. A nurse checked on her periodically, but after the midnight hour, the halls of the transport were deserted. Londo watched the nurse, Luccia's evening counterpart, shoo the last of the Centauri royal staff out the door to give the Empress some privacy and rest, and the nurse also departed after ensuring everything was to her satisfaction.

"Well," Londo paced to Timov's bedside where she lay, still unconscious. "How can you rest after a day like today? I, myself, am quite awake. And I have seen the evening news," he peered at the headlines lying on a nearby table, deposited by the staff. "It seems you have secured some popularity with the people and the press. Those who wished to see peace with the Narn are pleased, and those who yet dislike the Narn were enthralled by your performance in the wake of what happened." Londo surmised that the old aristocracy would be beside themselves with ire at the Narn and patriotism at the news of Timov's performance. _There will always be idiots_ , he thought. _Enough to fill a kingdom_.

"I will tell you a story," he patted her inert hand. "Let me see. Ah, have you heard the story about what I foolishly asked for from the Emperor as a boy?" He chuckled at the memory, "I could have had anything at all, and yet . . ." his voice trailed off. "No, you do not wish to hear it. You have heard it all countless times before. So, I will not bore you with it again. It does please me, though," he smiled, "that you must listen to whatever I want to say to you, and you cannot interrupt me." Concern for her well-being was still evident on his face, but already, she was looking much better than she had in the surgery room.

"Just look at what has become of us," Londo continued. "Who would have thought that it would come to this, after all these years? We are _voluntarily_ spending time together. Well," he shrugged with acknowledgement, " _I_ am voluntarily spending time with you. You, on the other hand," he gazed at her sleeping face, "you are unable to move or talk. But, you have not yet levitated and your head has not spun around three times, so _for you_ , that is close to voluntary."

Londo got up and paced around the side of the bed. "Do you want to hear a joke? Do you remember Emperor Taghano's second wife? You remember Taghano – he was the fourth emperor. And his wife was very famous for her wandering ways. No one could quite figure out how she was carrying on all of her affairs without any evidence of her crimes, so her sister asked her how was able to do it. And she patted her pregnant belly and said that she only took passengers when the hold was full." Londo chuckled at his own joke. "Women! Sometimes they are ingenious, magical creatures."

He stood up, stretching. It was going to be a long three days home. He turned to Timov and hoped that she would awaken soon.  He pointed at her and commanded, "Don't go anywhere," and then he added more softly, "I will be over here so I do not disturb you."  He pulled a chair into the corner and leaned back in it, crossing his arms, intending to briefly rest his eyes, but he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next day, Timov awoke to the quiet bustle of her staff, and Luccia filled her in on the odd happenings of the day before.

"A Narn and a Centauri you say?" Timov stared at Londo, who was still sitting quietly in the corner of her room, arms still folded. She noted that he was being uncharacteristically silent.

"Yes, Ma'am," Luccia, "strangely appropriate given your speech, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, strangely appropriate, indeed. What is even more strange is that the Centauri had my blood type."

"Do you think the Centauri is being held against his will? Perhaps he is being trafficked or held as a slave."

"No, it hardly sounds like that at all. I am confidant that the Narn probably rues the day he met the Centauri," Timov replied as she sank back into her bed.

Luccia departed, and Timov murmured to Londo, "You two are the oddest pair of best friends in the galaxy."

And with no further words on the matter, Londo was assured of Timov's forgiveness in the events of the day before.

* * *

By the time the Empress arrived on Centauri Prime three days later, she was feeling well enough to stand under her own power, and crowds of citizens greeted her return to their sieged world. She had decided against making the relatively safe summer palace her temporary living quarters. Instead, she decided to return directly the capitol city. "The people need me with them now, Londo," she said, overriding his protests at her decision. "And there is great symbolism in re-taking the palace from the Drakh. It will inspire our people who have lost so much. They will see our common sacrifice, and it will drive their determination in rooting out the rest of the Drakh, no matter the cost." Timov did, however, follow his instructions to communicate her intentions in advance of her arrival. And the security forces, under a new Minister of Defense, had done their best to ensure the palace and the surrounding area were cleared of Drakh influence. The palace was now bristling with palace security, internal security, and military forces loyal to Vir.

Timov was overwhelmed with court advisors upon her arrival, and she found she hardly had a moment to herself within the bristling fortress. She continued to receive intelligence reports on the situation concerning the throne, and she was relieved to hear that Vir had called the great Houses to Minbar while directing the resistance fighters, but she was distressed to hear that a few of the older Houses were still plotting against his ascension to the throne. The news troubled the Empress so much that she found herself in Londo's private office. After some thought, she dug through his desk, withdrawing the poison there. "And who was this meant for, hmm?" she asked.

Londo was lounging in his office's settee, and he wondered if he should tell her that it was, in fact, for himself in a moment of weakness. "Do not trouble yourself with that," he replied. "It was not for you, if that is what you are worried about."

Timov shot him a look of disapproval as she located his personal stationary and began to write on it.

After a moment, Londo's curiosity overcame him. "What are you doing?" he asked, rising. He strode to Timov's chair and peered over her shoulder.

Timov continued writing for a moment before applying the royal seal. "I am naming Vir your heir."

"What?" Mollari drew back in surprise. "You have no authority to do this," but then, as he looked over her shoulder, his astonishment grew. "Since when have you been able to forge my signature?"

Timov glanced up, "Oh, I don't know, three decades? Perhaps four. Awhile, anyway." She finished sealing the document and laid it aside. "Do you want Vir to become emperor?"

"My endorsement will hardly assist Vir after my association with the dark years that have just drawn to a close," Londo's face clouded over, "I am afraid, rather, that it will hurt his cause."

Timov turned, placing a hand on Londo's forearm, "He has won the younger Houses by leading the resistance against the Drakh. It is the older Houses that are already maneuvering to challenge him – you have seen the same intelligence reports that I have. And whereas such a document will mean little to new society, to the old society, it will carry a great deal of weight. You cannot seriously object to it."

Londo sat down heavily in a chair opposite Timov, "I would spare him this burden if I could, not condemn him to it." A feeling of sorrow passed over him, "It is a heavy weight, the crown."

Timov could see the melancholy on her husband's face. "Vir has already decided he will take it. You cannot change his decision, but you can help him win it." After a moment, she added, "If you do not help him, then you are actively hindering him."

Londo shook a finger at Timov, "I now see that _you_ should have been the diplomat."

Timov shrugged off the comment, "Regardless of the politics, you know how much it will mean to Vir, personally, to have your seal of approval. He has always craved it, although only the gods know why." Timov watched Londo's eyes darken again before he indicated his consent with the smallest of nods, and she immediately sent the document for general release along with a note that said she had found it in her husband's personal papers. The seal and signature proving genuine, it was enough to name Vir the heir to the throne, reinforcing his already strong claim. The news was met with skepticism, but it was not publicly rebuked by the younger Houses who already supported Cotto, and the older Houses reconsidered their potential challenges in light of the heir's newest claim to power.

* * *

Within a few days, the Houses had reaffirmed the naming of Cotto as the new emperor, and he returned to Centauri Prime having directed the resistance and military assaults on the Drakh from Minbar. He would not officially ascend to the office of Emperor of the Centauri Republic for several more days when the Centaurum officially met, but he was now officially "in charge." Vir surveyed the Capitol before him and sighed, feeling the weight of his burden as emperor already descending on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midnight on the Firing Line:  
> Londo: We made a mistake, I'm sorry. Here, open my wrists. [offers Garibaldi his wrists].  
> Garibaldi "Centauri don't have major arteries in their wrist."  
> Londo: "Of course we don't. What do you think, I'm stupid?"
> 
> The ideas that Na’Toth expresses as a reflection of G’Kar here regarding the "path that is no path" are traditional Buddhist teachings – that each individual must find one’s own true path to the truth.
> 
> The pog reference is my one-word homage to the nineties.


	14. A Cold Dish

_"Revenge is a confession of pain."  
_ \- Latin Proverb

"Timov," Londo was up early the day after Vir had returned to the palace, having easily fallen back into his regular routine. "I hardly got outside the palace walls these last years, and I would like to take a stroll in the city. I want to see the damage for myself, and now I can see it like a regular citizen, without the entourage and everything that goes with it."

Timov agreed quickly. A moment's rest from Londo's constant energy would be welcome to her as well. "And if Vir stops by – what shall I tell him?"

A cloud passed over Londo's face. "You must tell him nothing. I know that you mentioned my presence to Na'Toth, but she is a Narn, and it is unlikely she would believe such a preposterous claim anyway. But, with respect to our people, you must allow them their beliefs. Let your conversations with me continue to be a rumor. You must not confirm the truth of my presence here."

Timov drew back, "Why not? You would not let Vir know you are here?"

Londo shook his head, "You do not understand. I am able to speak with you directly by special dispensation. The price of this dispensation is that others may not know of these things until they pass beyond the rim. I am not allowed to reveal anything of the nature of the afterlife to a living soul. I wish that I could, but it is not allowed. You are granted an insight not given to others – perhaps it is because of the burden you bear as an Empress Dowager of our people. I do not know. The reason has not been revealed to me, and even if it were," he smiled sadly, "I could not tell you. You must also abide by these rules. You may let the people surmise, but you may not confirm these things to them. Besides, there is another reason, and it is far more practical. Vir must have free rein to do as he pleases. He must not think that I am sitting on his shoulder trying to rule from the afterlife. An emperor leads a lonely life, but it must be that way. It is the only way he will find his own voice."

"I may tell no one at all?" Timov said, appalled at this restriction.

"No, you may not. An Empress Dowager's ability to speak to a deceased Emperor is already a rumor among our people. You may not confirm it other than to say that you speak _for_ me. Many believe that you speak _with_ me already. You may even deny it, if you like. Beyond that, you must say nothing, or I will be unable to return here again."

With these words, he departed the palace grounds to take in the devastation beyond the palace grounds. It was even more horrific than the glimpses he had from the palace windows. The smell of charred flesh rolled over the city like a fog. Limbs could still be seen under rubble. The faces of the people were desperate, but he saw something else: they were united in their determination to throw off the yoke of the Drakh and to rebuild their home world. Their unspeakable loss and their resilient dedication reminded him that although he had suffered greatly, they had suffered even more.

When he reached the Great Square, once a vibrant and lively host of Centauri crowds, he noticed that it lay in ruins. The rubble of nearby buildings had fallen into it, and the people walking through it had haunted looks on their faces. Their living bodies seemed more dead than he was. Near one side of the square, where a magnificent and aged Vulder Tree had once spread its shady boughs over one corner of the square, he sat on a carved stone bench, looking at the ruins of the old and rare tree. It had been there when he was a boy, a climbing mecca for every Centauri child, and a respite from the heat of the midday sun. It had overseen hundreds of years of Centauri civilization. Now, its main trunk was cracked from the bombings, and its limbs had been rended asunder by falling debris. The patriarch of the Great Square was dead, the last remnants of its purple berries ground into the terraced footing beneath it. There were only a handful of the rare Vulder trees left on Centauri Prime, and now there was one less. Londo sat there, his sad eyes resting on the dead tree that had been like a friend to him in his boyhood, and he felt somehow that it symbolized all the Centauri had lost - their livelihoods, their homes, their families, their lives. As he looked at the ruins of that majestic tree, he wept for everything that had befallen his people, everything he had caused, and everything he had been unable to change.

But even as he was reduced to tears, not one of the many passerbys could see their deceased emperor shedding his tears for them and for all that had been lost.

* * *

Although Vir had fully intended on seeing the Empress as soon as he arrived to the palace, he was immediately pulled in all directions by the countless court advisers, ministers, and requests from the public as well as the most pressing concern – rooting out the Drakh infestation – so he was unable to seek Timov's audience immediately. Though the palace was bristling with military and guards, the Drakh infestation had not been entirely eradicated from its hallways, and each day, several more Drakh were killed outright or captured and placed in the dungeons below the palace.

Several hours after Londo had left for his stroll, a knock came on the door of Timov's private quarters. Vir had commanded hourly sweeps of the palace, and he had sent extra soldiers to guard her door, so Timov had little apprehension about whoever was knocking. Instead of Provi's face peaking in to tell her who was there, it was Senna's face that appeared. Senna beamed when she saw Timov, but she didn't approach until Timov beckoned her with a hand.

"Come in, Senna," Timov said with joy at the sight of Senna. "You mustn't start being shy now. My quarters are always open to you."

Senna slipped into the room and embraced Timov. "I had heard you have been very ill, and I didn't want to disturb you unless . . . unless you were feeling up to it. Otherwise I would have come last night – but the advisors told Vir you were already resting when he arrived, and he's been up to his crest in people today."

Timov folded her hands primly, "Do I look ill?" Recognizing that she still looked gaunt and pallid, Timov finally acknowledged the sickness that had been plaguing her, adding, "I admit that I have been ill, but it seems to have been lifted from me. So, I thank the gods for that." At Senna's incredulous look, Timov added, "And I do feel better since returning from Narn. I've taken up my husband's vice of having a snifter of brivari in the morning to help with the pain, and it makes me feel almost new again."

Senna drew back at the news, but she sighed when Timov said the illness had been lifted and that she was feeling better from the PPG blast, Senna squeezed her hands, "We should invite your doctor to the palace in thanks for your recovery."

Feeling Londo's presence even though he had left the palace for his morning stroll, Timov replied, "I'm afraid my physician wound up on my husband's quite long list of people who made him very irritable, so out of respect to his memory, I have determined to name another physician to my staff."

"Oh," Senna's eyes grew wider. "Well, I am so happy to see you again," and she embraced the Empress, carefully avoiding Timov's painful side. "It has been so many years since I have been able to see you in person, and I'm only sorry that this could not have been sooner."

Timov shrugged, "There is nothing we can do about the past. It is the future that is within our power. Now, you must tell me everything that has transpired with you in my absence. You have sent me letters, of course, but I should like to hear everything again from you. I have been gone so long, and while I kept close tabs on the palace, I would rather hear your thoughts on the events that transpired since I left."

Timov led Senna to a patio overlooking the South lawn with its terraces and fountains. They were in a state of disrepair, lending to the damaged look of palace in the aftermath of recent events. Once there, Senna filled Timov in on the highlights of the last several years, and she discussed the recent developments concerning the Resistance and Vir's leadership. When Senna had finished her story, she turned to Timov. "Speaking of Vir, I was wondering if you might give me some guidance."

"Of course," Timov noticed the young woman had suddenly become anxious.

Senna nervously twisted her hands, "Vir is going to ask me to marry him. We've talked about it, and he was waiting for the throne to be settled. Now that he's taking the throne in a few days, I think he is waiting to ask for your blessing before he officially asks for my hand."

Happiness washed over Timov's face, "That's wonderful, Senna!"

Senna agreed with a bright smile. "I know, I am so happy with him. It is as if we were meant to be together. It is just that, I haven't had to share him with anyone yet, and . . . you know Centauri men, and emperors in particular have certain privileges . . . ."

Timov sat straighter in her chair, a mirthful smile, "I see."

Senna turned her palms up gesturing at the palace, "Emperor Mollari was very faithful, even after he sent you from the palace, and I don't know what the coming years will bring for Vir. He was engaged some years ago to a young woman named Lyndisty, and the engagement was delayed indefinitely. If she is still alive and unmarried, he might decide to take her a second wife. I admit I haven't had the courage to ask him about her. But," she sighed, "Emperor Mollari allowed me a rather liberal education, so I am not sure that I can accept a traditional Centauri marriage. And my marriage with Vir will be nontraditional, anyway, because it is not arranged – it is for love. I guess I'm just a little pensive over sharing him in the years to come."

Timov rested her head on an annoyed finger that was pressed to her temple, "First of all, I hate to tell you this, but from the very moment Vir is crowned, you are bound to share him with the whole of the Centauri people. He will never belong entirely to you again. And as for whether you can call Londo's faithfulness a matter of choice while he was emperor may be up to who you ask. Before he went to the palace, before you met him, Senna, Londo was always promiscuous, even by Centauri standards. He has always delighted in the wiles of women, but he is also the most obstinate, stubborn man who has ever walked Centauri Prime, and the Drakh challenged his sense of honor insofar as it came to women, so he would not pursue any woman as emperor. I can tell you that if it had independently occurred to him, he might have pursued the throne purely for the prize of having access to any man's wife in the Republic at his whim. So to have such a reward snatched from him on account of his own moral sensibilities was a disappointing blow, I'm sure."

Senna's eyebrows had risen at the way Timov spoke of Londo with both distain and tenderness in her voice. But it was surely on account of the terrible way their relationship had ended so many years before. Senna had never believed the accusations against Timov, and Londo's handwritten notes finally confirmed her suspicions. Senna felt terrible that Timov had to endure such a horrific and humiliating experience, but at least she was far from the palace during the darkest of the Drakh years, though the shameful experience must have wounded both the Empress and the Emperor greatly.

"But," Timov continued, oblivious to Senna's thoughts, "you must simply judge the man before you. My husband always had the energy of more than 12 men combined, and more stamina than everyone else around him, which landed him the throne but also made him quite unbearable in the bedroom. Imagine trying to sate his ravenous appetite for passion – honestly, I don't know why any one woman would try. Dealing with him one-on-one all the time is taxing, to say the least," she thought of the past days with him and tried to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at his unending energy and his frustrated inability to interact with anyone else. "I can tell you that Londo is the one man in the universe who may be better off with multiple wives – for _their_ sake, not his. So, knowing my husband as I do, I only hope that when the dust settles and the blood returns to his head, he will also return. I prefer to set the bar where he can reach it, and much more would be quite impossible for him."

Spotting Londo's figure in the distance returning via the South lawn, Timov softened and finally added, "It is true that after our time together at the palace, I sensed a great change in him, but he also has an insatiable need for love – and I think that he does not always believe that he deserves love, so he is constantly trying to find reserves in case his beliefs prove true. He has never quite understood the idea of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I would not be surprised if he is trying to woo Li herself in his spare time. But he is also a man of great surprises, so it would also not surprise me if he does exactly the opposite."

Senna blinked in surprise at how Timov seemed to switch between the present and past tenses when it came to Londo, but he was so very recently deceased, so it all seemed understandable.

Timov turned back to Senna. "Vir is a different man than my husband. But, I can tell you that my husband has likely given Vir some very questionable advice over the years. And they met when Vir was still very young and impressionable, so you will have that to contend with. I think you must ask yourself these things: does he come back you? Was it an affair of the heart or the flesh? Does it hurt you? Does it ease his burden or yours? Is it his intention now to take more than one wife? These are all questions that only you and he can answer. If the answers hurt you, then speak with him now, before you are engaged. It will make your life later more bearable, especially since Vir has the added weight and responsibility of being emperor, and he will have the freedom to do whatever he likes in the future."

Senna nodded thoughtfully, "Thank you, Lady Timov. I will speak with Vir about it when I have considered these questions adequately to know my own thoughts." In departing, Senna clasped the Empress in another embrace.

Senna was so happy that her reunion with Timov had been made possible, for she could think of no better confidant in the palace walls after everything that had happened. Timov had become like a mother to her – indeed, Senna had been Timov's ward as well, so seeing her again brought gladness to Senna's hearts, and she spent many, many hours with the Empress over the next several days, catching up on all the years that had passed between them.

* * *

Within a few days of Senna's initial visit, a gentle knock came at Timov's door, and as the heavy oaken door swung forth, Timov saw that Palco's uncle, Dunseny, had taken it upon himself to return to the service of House Mollari as her attendant in the palace. Next to Dunseny was Palco, and behind Palco was Vir Cotto, an intense look in his face.

"Your Majesty . . . ."

"Oh, Dunseny," Timov sharply broke Dunseny's introduction, "enough with the formalities, please let him in. It is his house now, after all." Timov ushered Vir in and shooed the attendants out of the room so they could speak frankly.

Vir had always had trepidation about speaking with Timov, preferring her husband's company to Timov's intimidating presence. Whereas in the past few years Vir had gained courage and grown into the mantle he would soon wear as emperor, Timov's presence always made him feel a little more like the old, unsure Vir, so it had been a great surprise when Timov had sent the doctor with the message detailing her staunch support for his bid for the crown. The cabinet reshuffle had also firmed up Vir's support, eliminating any remaining resistance to his rule. While Vir was confident he could have managed the throne without Timov's support, he was thankful for it, and he had shed more than a few tears when he had held in his hands Londo's royal decree declaring Vir his heir. Vir had known for many years that Timov could forge her husband's signature, and the timing was too fortunate to be anything else, _but still_ , the idea meant a great deal to him.

Sitting down, uncomfortably, opposite Timov, Vir looked at the table between them for a moment, trying to think of what to say. "Lady Timov," he finally managed, "I'm so sorry about Londo . . . ."

Timov interrupted him, allowing herself to be perfectly frank with him. "Vir, you have been much closer to my husband this past decade than I have been, although I know that he kept you at arm's length because of the Drakh, so it seems rather pointless for you to comfort me when it is I that should be comforting you."

Vir looked up, meeting her steady gaze with shock.

"My husband's end," she continued, "came at a moment and a fashion of his own choosing, and that is something granted to very few."

Vir's eyes clouded with tears, and he squeezed them shut before any could fall. "I just . . . He suffered so much, and I just wanted . . . I just wanted everything to be O.K. The Republic. The people. Him. Everything. But with the Drakh – it wasn't possible. It just _wasn't possible_."

Timov's spine straightened as she prepared to tell Vir that he needed to put on a strong face as the incoming emperor, but before she could, she felt Londo's hand upon her shoulder. He had been listening from a seat nearby, but now he had risen to interrupt her before she could respond. "Timov," Londo said softly, "Be gentle with him. He is in great pain. And who else might he share it with? He will have every opportunity to put on a brave face for our people. But for now, let him be a man and not an emperor."

After exchanging glances with Londo, Timov softened again, "Vir, _we_ wish you to know that you have our greatest trust, love, and affection for you. _We_ are very proud of you and of the work you have forged in a very dark time in the Republic. It may not be easy to accept," she continued, "but you served my husband admirably. You have won his official recognition as his heir. You have all of our love – all of _his_ love. I know it with perfect certainty. If he had the capacity, he would shake this melancholy out of you himself."

At this, Vir managed a smile, imagining Londo doing just that.

Timov continued, "You are embarking on a difficult path, but take heart in what you have already done for the Republic. The people believe in you. The Houses are standing with you. With their trust, you can do a great many things. I know that Londo is content leaving you in charge of his most precious possession – the Republic – to care for and nurture. We have done all that we can to smooth the way for your coronation, and we will continue to stand by you in whatever role you desire. Or, if you prefer us to stand aside, we shall do so."

Vir blinked away the emotions he was feeling and brushed his tears away with a sleeve, "Thank you, Lady Timov. It means so much to me. And I would welcome your guidance and counsel. You are a mother to our people now, and if you are willing, your assistance would be invaluable. And," a bashful look overtook him, "Senna . . . Senna would appreciate your company if you would consider living here. Senna and I have both lost our parents now as mine were killed in the recent bombings, so you and Londo . . . well, now you, you are a mother to us, as well. And, speaking of Senna," he drew back his shoulders, sitting taller, "there is something I would like to ask you, Lady Timov."

Timov tried her best to return a nonchalant gaze, hoping that this might be the moment he summoned the courage to ask for Senna's hand, "What would that be?"

"Senna was your ward as well as Londo's, so . . ." Vir licked his lips, letting the rest of his words tumble out at once, "I would like your blessing – both from you and Londo – to ask for her hand in marriage."

 _There. He's got it out at last_ , thought Timov. "First of all, you hardly need anyone's permission. You are to be the Emperor as soon as you are officially crowned. But of course, you have – ".

"NO!" Londo cut Timov off before she could get the words out of her mouth.

Shocked, Timov looked at Londo, "You can't be serious?"

"Well," Vir ground his teeth nervously, "I mean . . . we've been seeing each other for a while now and . . ."

Timov glanced at Londo with a rigid stare while Vir nervously chattered on.

Londo clasped his hands behind his back. "Summon Senna."

Timov closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself. She rather wished she could trade places with someone else for a while, but relaying Londo's puzzling requests was her duty now, so she would bear it. "Vir," she cut him off, "I'm sorry, you took me by surprise. Imagine my _total shock_ at this news," she could feel her internal eyes rolling and hoped her sarcasm wasn't painfully obvious to Vir. "We will consider your request, but first, we wish to discuss the matter with Senna." Timov called to an attendant at the door and sent him for Senna, who appeared a few moments later.

"Lady Timov, what is it?" she asked, breathless, before seeing Vir.

Londo walked to Senna's side and gazed at her, "Timov, ask her what her wishes are in this matter."

Timov wondered if there wasn't an easier way of playing telephone with the afterlife, but she pushed down any annoyance she had at relaying Londo's whims and conveyed the question to Senna, "Vir has asked for our blessing for your hand in marriage, but we would like to know your wishes in the matter before we grant our approval to this union."

Standing there, Senna detected the subtlest scent of argan oil and expensive aftershave. She remembered that Londo had asked her the same question when Throk had asked for her hand in marriage. Senna's eyes grew wider, her jaw dropping in shock, "He's here, isn't he?" she whispered to Timov, so low that Vir did not hear her question from where he sat.

Timov's eyes grew wide in disbelief and she traded glances with Londo who pursed his lips in thought before turning to Timov. "Ask her again," he commanded Timov.

But before Timov could say anything, Senna responded with wide eyes scanning the room as she seemed to listen intently, "Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes. I wish to marry Vir."

Seeing where Timov was looking, Senna turned toward Londo's location, but she gazed through him, unseeing. "Well," he puffed up his chest, "of course they may have my blessing. Personally, I could not be happier than with this union." He turned toward Timov, "It will be good for Vir to have Senna by his side. She will be a great asset to him, and she will make a superb empress." He smiled at Timov, beaming his approval.

" _Thank you_ ," Senna whispered, still gazing through Londo, straining to hear something far away. Londo turned on his heel back toward Senna, staring at her.

Leaving Londo and Senna alone for the moment to let Londo unravel what exactly was happening and to distract Vir from their conversation, Timov returned to Vir's side, clasping his hands, "Of course, Vir, you have our blessing. When will the solemn occasion be?"

As Timov and Vir chatted about the marriage arrangements, Londo's face collapsed from bright happiness into astonishment. He called to Timov, "Perhaps she has a bit of Xon in her, eh?"

At the mention of the Xon, Timov shot Londo a look of disapproval, and Londo threw up his hands in retreat. "It was a joke – because the Xon – oh, never mind," he shook his head. He would never be able to explain _that_ joke.

Londo moved a half a pace from Senna. "Can you hear me?" he asked her suspiciously, but she did not respond, gazing intently through him. "Well," his smile returned, reassured that she did not hear him, "that's all right. I suppose if you could hear me, I would tell you that nothing in the world could make me more content than to see you and Vir married. I would tell you that you have shown me that great things can arise from great tragedies. You were born to darkness, but you have been nothing but light in my life. And these last few years of my life, I had so little light, so it meant all the more to me." But he stopped abruptly as he could see tears falling from Senna's eyes, though she had not moved. "Why are you crying?" he asked her directly before turning to summon Timov to his side.

Before he could say anything, Senna replied, " _Because_ ," she whispered, " _we miss you so much."_

Londo's eyes grew wide, "Well," he passed a hand over hers, but there was no response. "Perhaps you do not need my blessing after all, because if you can hear me, it seems you are fated to become an empress yourself and, by the sound of it, perhaps you will outlive Vir one day and you, yourself, will become an empress dowager."

Senna's eyes widened in shock but she said nothing for a moment before whispering her reply in her own state of shock. " _We do not need it, but we both want your blessing very much,_ " she whispered to Londo, still straining mightily. " _Will you come to the wedding?"_

Timov and Vir had stood up and walked to Senna's side. Noticing her searching expression, Vir put a reassuring hand on Senna's back. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Senna tore her gaze away from Londo's direction and shook her head with a faint smile, "Nothing's wrong," she murmured, still straining for a response, "Nothing's wrong at all."

"No," Londo responded at last, "I will not promise to attend such a solemn occasion. I may be granted that now – I do not have to attend depressing formalities. But . . . ." He thought a moment, "I will do this for you - when you have your first son and you name him after me, then you may be sure that I will be at his naming ceremony!" He laughed mirthfully, his laugh boomed louder than his words, seeming to fill the room as he delighted himself with his own idea of another Londo in the palace.

A smile grew on Senna's face as she had two flashes in quick succession. She had never had visions before, and she never had another, but in that moment, she was granted two small glimpses into the future. One was of Londo resting his eyes like a tired grandfather while stretched out on the bed in Lady Timov's quarters, a young enfant asleep on his chest. His hands were folded gently over the child's body, only the head peeking through the blanket made by his hands. Then, in quick succession, she saw another vision of Londo striding after a giggling toddler, who was running away while his head was turned over his shoulder ensuring Londo was still following. " _Come here, my little leati!_ " Londo roared after him. " _This one! He has more energy than sense – you see, he is so transfixed by what is behind him, he cannot see what is before him._ " Senna could see Timov in the distance, more wrinkles lining her face as she replied, " _That sounds ominously familiar. At least he was aptly named."_ Londo shot a look of annoyance at Timov before firmly addressing the toddler again, " _Come here! You are wearing even the gods out_." Senna blinked, and the visions disappeared, captured only in her memory.

Senna blinked at the flashes she had just had, emotion welling in her breast. She nodded, still whispering, "It's a deal. _"_

Taking her hand, Vir laughed, "What's a deal?"

Senna's smile filled her face as she clasped his hand, "Our plans for the future, Vir."

Vir threw his free arm around Senna's shoulders, a smile on his face. "Thank you, Lady Timov, we are in your debt. It does mean a lot."

Senna never again heard the voice of the late emperor, though she strained to hear it again on many occasions and sometimes, feeling his presence or the faintest whiff of his cologne and aftershave, she had many one-sided conversations in case he was standing nearby. But having heard it just the once, insight she felt was granted by the gods in recognition of her sorrow in her time of need, she took great heart that Londo's steps still echoed somewhere in the palace, and she knew that his reputed bond with Timov was more than a passing rumor, though she was never able to bring Timov to speak of it directly. And though it was expected anyway, the smile on Senna's face at her first son's naming ceremony was brighter and happier than on any other day. And whenever she could, she sent the boy to Timov, wondering when – and if – her visions were coming true. The little boy had a close relationship with his adopted grandmother, a role Timov had taken since the boy had no natural grandparents yet living, and he chattered incessantly about his grandfather. Whenever he mentioned his grandfather, Senna would listen enraptured to his embellished toddler tales of the leati who commanded the halls of the palace with his booming voice that no one else could see or hear.

One evening, shortly after they endured the solemn marriage ceremony, Senna timidly shared with Vir her exchange with the late emperor and her sense that he still walked the palace halls. Vir stared at her for a moment across the sheets of their bed before a smile overtook him, "I have felt him too, you know? Maybe it's just that I _want_ it so much, but sometimes I _feel_ like he is standing next to me. Or maybe I am just imagining him yelling when I do something he would disagree with." Vir managed a smile at the thought, "You know," he confided, "I even had Londo's personal cabinet of brivari restocked for him." Vir's smile grew. "I know that aged brivari dissipates in the bottle, but when I stop by that cabinet in the study and some of the bottles are half full, sometimes I wonder if it's the brivari or if it is him."

* * *

Londo's funeral had been set for a few days before Vir's coronation. Timov had spent the evening before it talking through the preparations with Vir and his staff. The next morning, she prepared for the festivities in Londo's honor, and as her attendants put the finishing touches on her dress, she turned, seeing Londo reclining in a chair, evidently not prepared to go anywhere. She sent her attendants from the room before she addressed him, "Aren't you coming?" she asked. "You will miss your own funeral."

"No," he pointed toward her, "You will represent me alone. I have something to do here."

Timov did not like the glint in his eye, and she tried to coax him into attending his funeral. "It has been a long time since the people have been allowed a public party. It will be a wonderful sight, and it is all in your honor. You should come."

"There is something I will enjoy a great deal more," Londo said, pushing himself out of the chair with a heave. "And besides, I know it will not be as big of a party as Turhan's when there were actual ducats in the treasury for such an endeavor. If I see him in the afterlife, I will never be able to live this down. So, I prefer not to dwell on what is already a failure."

Timov looked at the ceiling with a sigh. "But Vir is unveiling the drawings for the memorial statues for you and G'Kar."

"Oh?" Londo walked over to her and looked at the drawings she had received from Vir and Senna. "They are tremendous," he smiled. "She is quite a talent, our Senna."

"Yes," Timov said approvingly as she re-rolled up the drawings. "And you won't even be there to hear them announce the statues."

"Well, you may relay our approval, yes?"

Timov sighed, "Oh and Vir mentioned something about a civic project he was thinking of starting - something near Lake Challa, and he was soliciting opinions."

Londo smiled. "Perhaps a public work is exactly what the people need to throw their spirits into. You should tell him that it is an excellent idea. And, while you are at it, perhaps you can mention that there is some research that should be done by our royal historians on the Xon wars. I have a feeling that perhaps there is more to that story than we have been led to believe by our history books."

Timov stared at Londo for a moment, wondering what he might mean, but she made a mental note to mention it to Vir.

Now," Londo continued, "I will require a royal pardon before you leave. Will you write it out?"

Timov didn't like where this was headed at all. "I'm not sure I even have that authority anymore."

Londo grinned, "Yes, until Vir is _actually_ crowned, I think you have enough legal authority. But, even if not, Vir will grant you this request. You are a grieving widow, after all. And it is the day of your dearly departed husband' s funeral, so surely he will grant you at least this request."

Timov folder her hands primly. "And in whose name shall I make this pardon?"

"In good time, Timov, in good time. Will you call the Captain of your Guard and station him in this room before you leave?"

Timov pursed her lips with disapproval, but she didn't see why she should deny him this odd request, so she called Provi in and asked him to remain in her chamber until she returned. When Provi protested that he would rather be at her side during the funeral, she halted his protests with a wave, reminding him that the other guards would be with her. "And," she glanced at Londo, "there is an antique in here that requires your service more than I."

Londo rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Provi nodded, stationing himself by the door. The subsequent knock at the door confirmed what Timov already knew – she was expected immediately, for the state funeral and the lavish festival following it would start soon, and Vir and the rest of the royal court were waiting for her. Reluctantly, Timov left after another concerned glance at her husband, who had the look of a man who was about to do something very foolish.

Londo watched Provi close the door close behind the Empress Dowager and return to his guard station by the door. Londo strode to Provi's side and peered into the guard's steady eyes which looked right though him.

"I have need of your service," Londo told Provi before aggressively taking over Provi's body. It was not technically forbidden for a god to possess a body, but it certainly was bending the Universe's rule about not materializing in front of people in the material world.

Londo, in the guise of the guard, rested his hand nonchalantly on the hilt of the guard's coutari, a wicked smile appearing on the guard's face.

Had anyone been looking, they would have seen the terrified expression of Provi reflected only in eyes that had suddenly lit up with stardust. Londo smiled with satisfaction as he threw open the door, heading for a very specific destination. Londo strode through the palace's long hallway, taking a back stairway down several flights before heading down another hallway, rounding a corner, passing through the outdoor courtyard, and taking another stairway downwards in a building behind the main palace.

Arriving at the palace's dungeon doors, Londo gestured to the guards to let him pass, and they complied, seeing only the order of their superior officer. Londo walked purposefully to the old cell he and G'Kar had been held in so many years before when he was Prime Minister, and he motioned for the guard outside to open the door and to close it behind him. Complying, the guard opened it, allowing Londo access. There, on the other side of the cell, was Shiv'kala watching the newcomer with interest.

Londo withdrew the coutari from its scabbard and pointed it at Shiv'kala. Ominously, he roared his words at Shiv'kala as he strode across the room, "As I once was, so you now are, but as I am, so now you will be," he said, running his blade straight through the Drakh's chest at the last word. He felt the grim satisfaction of it slicing its way to an abrupt stop as the hilt buried itself in Shiv'kala's chest. "Signed," he whispered into the Drakh's ear, his words dripping with contempt, "Londo Mollari." He could feel the Drakh shuddering on his coutari like a speared fish. In a swift motion, he withdrew the blade, and with a whirl, he sliced off Shiv'kala's head, and the head clattered to the floor, spraying blood across the room. Londo stared as his handiwork for a moment with satisfaction on his face before he picked up the dripping head with his free hand. A dark laugh rumbled in his chest. He addressed the head with a mirthful smile, "So you thought that every Drakh looks like every other Drakh to our eyes, hmm? You counted on the fact that Garibaldi and Vir would accept one of your lieutenants was you if he merely claimed it was so? You sent him to try to take your revenge on Vir. And Garibaldi killed him. But it is _fate_ , is it not, that I know your face _so very well_ , and, having seen the face of the Drakh that Garibaldi killed, I _knew_ that it was not you. And then, when I was strolling through the palace yesterday, I saw you taken prisoner, _still alive_. And, I must say, Shiv'kala," he spat the name out as if it was an obscenity, "it gives me the greatest pleasure to let your lifeblood seep onto the floor."

Mollari pounded on the door for it to be opened, and the guards on the other side gaped when they saw the bloody scene and the dripping head in one hand, the bloody coutari in the other, but he strode past them, headed for a new destination. In a few moments, he was in the courtyard, gratified at the sight of Shiv'kala's head at the end of a pike. "This," he shook a warning finger at the head, "this is a fitting gift for me on my funeral day." At last he sheathed the bloody coutari and walked back to the Empress' quarters, bloody footsteps trailing after him.

On his arrival there, he sat down and made out the royal pardon in Provi's name before he left Provi's body. At Londo's departure from his body, the man slumped, collapsing to the floor, his bloody uniform staining the marble floor. Unbeknownst to Londo, a new speck of crimson thread appeared on his cuffs, one more mark of red staining his arms.

"Ah, Provi," Londo adjusted his cuffs as he looked at the young Captain slumped on the floor. You have been the hand of the Emperor. Since no one will believe that you were possessed by the demonic incarnation of the deceased emperor, this pardon will have to do."

At that, Londo strolled to the courtyard beyond the palace, and he looked over the vast crowds celebrating his funeral with cheerfulness and gaiety. He took some solace in seeing this, for he had felt his tenure as emperor was rather a disaster with the people, but the people would embrace any cause to celebrate these days, and he was glad that his death was giving them something festive to enjoy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Deconstruction of Falling Stars:  
> Londo: "So, Doctor, who died?" [watching wedding festivities]  
> Franklin: "What are you talking about?"  
> Londo: "Among my people this is how we celebrate state funerals. Our marriage ceremonies are solemn, sober, moments of reflection, also regret, disagreement, argument and mutual recrimination. Once you know it can't get any worse you can relax and enjoy the marriage. But to start with something like this. No, it is a very bad sign for the future."
> 
> The line that Londo says to Shiv'kala here is one that appears on a lot of old 18th century gravestones (I, myself, encountered it on a tombstone in the Caribbean). The full quote (of which there are a lot of variations) is:
> 
> As I once was  
> so you now are,  
> but as I am,  
> so now you will be.  
> Prepare for death,  
> and follow me.


	15. Let Us Dream

_here in creation's bed_  
_. . . i have grown old_  
_remembering the garden,_  
_the hum of the great cats_  
_moving into language, the sweet_  
_fume of the man's rib_  
_as it rose up and began to walk._  
_it was all glory then,_  
_the winged creatures leaping_  
_like angels, the oceans claiming_  
_their own. let us rest here a time_  
_like two old brothers_  
_who watched it happen and wondered  
_ _what it meant._

\- Lucille Clifton, _Brothers_

It was the day of Vir's coronation, and Londo was waiting patiently for Timov to finish with her preparations when a pained expression overcame him. An intense and visceral feeling of being beckoned fell over him, and he knew that the time had come for him to go. He furrowed his brow grimly before taking a last look around Timov's quarters in the palace. "Timov," Londo called to her. She glanced up and seeing the look in his eyes, immediately rose.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing is wrong, my dove. I have some . . . " he paused, searching for the right words, ". . . additional duties now, and I must now go and see to them." He could not tell her that the Universe was summoning him for whatever might lie ahead, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had been instructed to return to the Rim.

Timov's face had grown pale with alarm. "When will I see you again? _Will I_ see you again?"

"At your bidding, I will come back when I am able, so if you need me, you will call," Londo gently replied as he clasped her hands.

Timov's eyes were frantic for a moment before she composed herself. "At the instant I have become accustomed, _gods help me_ , to your constant companionship you leave? After a month of hardly ever leaving my side and on the day of Vir's coronation, no less?" She looked away, trying to push away the feelings that were welling inside her. Rather than acknowledge them directly, she turned to her biting wit. "And how will I sleep, now, without your constant prattle lulling me into sleep? I have become habituated to it. Silence will leave me quite restless." Timov felt an awful gaping precipice looming in her breast.

'Ah," Londo asked her wryly, "yes, how will you fall asleep? I suppose you will take a lover to fill the void, hmm? A doctor, perhaps?"

Rebellion reared in Timov's breast at his teasing tone, "Although I sent the doctor away, perhaps I will find a lover at that. Are you intending upon forbidding me from taking one?"

Londo chuckled, "Oh no, I know better than to forbid Timov, daughter of Algul, from doing anything. You will do whatever I forbid specifically to vex me. But you should know that it will be hard for you and your lover to find any peace, since I will haunt you with all of my spare moments. There is an old earth saying that 'three is a crowd.'"

"Yes, _remember_ _that_ ," Timov eyed him squarely, emphasizing his own point back at him. Although what she told Senna had been the truth, Timov was still learning to navigate Londo's constant companionship, and at turns over the past few weeks, she had found him both charming and exasperating, but to her own surprise as each day passed, his constant presence had grown on her to the point where she could no comprehend life without it, nor did she wish his attention and affection to be divided by others any longer. Londo gazed at her for a moment, taking her meaning, before he grunted his acknowledgement. With that, Timov softened. "You will probably haunt me in any event. I imagine I will be quite busy anyway. I have your entire fortune to spend now that I have inherited it."

A chagrined look passed over Londo's face. "And what do you plan to buy with all of my ducats?"

Timov squared her shoulders, a wicked gleam in her eye as she needled him. "Pool boys, I suppose. Something young and muscular to pass the time."

"Pool boys," he scoffed. "There, you are trying to toy with me again, but now I know better to fall for your games."

The teasing glint in Timov's eyes melted from her face as she became serious again. She leaned in to his arms to embrace him and whispered into his ear softly as if someone might overhear her tender words, " _Don't go_."

The sound of her fear and worry tore at his heartstrings. "I'm sorry," he murmured gently, "I have no choice in this matter. It is my duty, as you have a duty to our people here." As he felt Timov's tears in his shoulder, he chastised her lightly, "Do not cry. You have never cried before when I've left. In fact, the last time I left for Babylon 5, you broke out a bottle of earth champagne, you remember?"

Timov pulled back, dabbing at her red eyes. "That was purely coincidental," she sniffed. "Besides, things are different now."

Londo searched her eyes for a moment before he responded. In that moment, he perceived what could have been for so many years but which he had overlooked, and she had disdained. And now, when they had found and cultivated what had long been missing from their marriage, it was a bittersweet goodbye. "Yes, I suppose they are." He smiled, trying to lighten the mood, but his smile did not reach his eyes, "But, now I am dead, so perhaps I am merely a figment of your imagination."

Having composed herself, Timov waved a hand in annoyance.  "The gods help me if all my imagination can come up with is Londo Mollari." Though she jested with him lightly now, her barbed spears had wounded Londo greatly in the past. And yet, they seemed to have been granted another chance at what lay between them, and they had made the most of it, but now it seemed that it was ending all too soon. He was slipping through her fingers again, and there was nothing she could do about it, but she took solace in his words that he would return at her bidding. She desperately wanted him to stay, but as with all things, it seemed that these moments could not last forever.

Londo laughed at her remark. "Well," he knew he could not delay much longer, "in my absence, I do not doubt that you will speak for both of us with wisdom and grace, and you will look after Vir and Senna and assist them in their new duties when they most need it. There are sure to be trying times in the future, as there were in the past, so they will need you, as do our people."

"Yes," Timov agreed, "For one thing, Vir has spoken to me about his wish to end the practice of slavery in the Republic."

A concerned look fell over Londo's face, "That will be a long and difficult battle. He will likely face armed insurrection in the colonies," he clenched his jaw with concern. "If he embarks upon this path, he will need _even more_ assistance to hold the Republic together."

Timov nodded her agreement, thinking what a difficult path Vir had before him with the aftermath of the Drakh incursion, let alone all the other problems facing the Republic. She glanced sadly out the window. "I wish you could see Vir's coronation."

"So do I," Londo agreed, regret evident in his voice. _And yet_ , he thought, _how appropriate that Vir shall be crowned_ _after I have been summoned away_. "But I am afraid I must go. I shall have to settle for your account of the festivities when I next see you."  He embraced her with emotion welling in his chest and stole a kiss before he turned toward the door.  As he retreated through it, Timov whispered so softly that he would be unable to hear her, "Londo?"

As he passed over the threshold, Londo paused and turned. "You must at least wait for me to leave before you call me back to you," he chided her gently. "Do not doubt that I can hear you _whenever_ you call to me."

The diminutive woman who caused terror in the hearts of so many ran to him, throwing her arms around Londo's chest in another emotional embrace. "There are still so many things we have left unsaid," she choked away her emotion. "You say that I will see you again, but I want you to know this before you go. I know that I have said things to hurt you in the past," she whispered, "and they have wounded you deeply. For those things, I am sorry. Sorry for the wounds they have caused. Sorry that our marriage started with antipathy caused by the actions of both of our families. The gods did not grant us a smooth start to our life together, and it had a very rocky middle, but you have given it a good end. And I know what you have done for me these past weeks, and for our people these many years. Do not doubt that, buried beneath your vice and sins, I have finally seen the man sometimes hidden from the world. The generous, patriotic, passionate man who was hidden to me for so long. Now I have found him. You have very rough edges, Londo Mollari, but rather than cut me, I find now that I admire their individuality. You are the roughest of gemstones, Londo, but a gem, nevertheless."

" _Great Maker_ ," Londo said in surprise. Timov had managed to do it again -- she had taken his breath away. He closed his eyes, trying to hold the moment in his memory. To win her respect, support, and love after all of the events of the past and the present was bittersweet, but her words had made it all the more poignant. He squeezed her one last time and released her, stepping back as he drew himself to his full height. "I will always be waiting for you with anticipation, my dove, beyond the rim," he told her softly before he re-assumed the stoic look of centuries of Centauri noblemen faithfully acquiescing to their duties.

Londo took Timov's hand in his and kissed it with a deep bow before pulling her hand to his chest, closing the gap between their bodies again. He kissed the nape of her neck and the bare skin at the cleft of her bosom before finally finding her mouth with his, letting a fervent kiss linger there before pulling away. As he did so, he placed her hand between his hearts, so she could feel how rapidly they were beating and the quickness of his breath.

Timov smiled at his flash of desperation, twin pangs of melancholy and loneliness hitting her chest only when their intertwined fingers separated at last and his figure retreated through the door.  As he did so, the Empress Dowager turned away so that she did not have to witness the bittersweet tragedy of his figure fading from her life once again.

* * *

Reaching the seascape of the Crossroads, Londo approvingly observed that the crowd in the square beneath the travertine colosseum had noticeably thinned, and as he scanned the crowd, he saw the flash of blue and gold he was coming to associate with G'Kar. Making his way through the square, Londo greeted the Narn with a nod.

"I see you have also been summoned," G'Kar pointed beyond the coliseum. "Have you been briefed on our assignment?"

Londo frowned, "No, what is it?"

G'Kar lowered his voice so only Londo could hear him. "There is a council to the Universe – it is difficult to describe. In broad strokes, perhaps I can liken it to the role of the Advisory Council. This council is called the Great Council, and representatives of the living races are sent to it at the Universe's command. The Council advises the Fates as they spin the future. It is . . ." G'Kar's eyes flashed with happiness, "a great honor. G'Quan has served as the Narn ambassador to the Council for centuries, but he is moving on to the next place. There has been a Centauri vacancy for some time, and the Universe has bid us to come."

"So," Londo snorted, "we are to be ambassadors once again. But why would the Universe – or even the Fates require counsel from inferior beings, hmm?"

G'Kar responded with weight, "When there are multiple paths to the same destination, and choice is infinite, perhaps counsel – even if inferior, flawed counsel – is the wisest thing the Universe can require."

Londo shrugged. "Well, in any event, we must not keep the Universe waiting. She is a jealous lover, and it looks as though we have some adventures in front of us. Uncharted adventures."

G'Kar smiled, "About that, you are right, Mollari. It is a new adventure. Daunting but...I find I am quite looking forward to it. It is just the sort of challenge I enjoy."

As they prepared to depart, Londo noticed a familiar face in the square, and he held up a finger at G'Kar. "One minute," he weaved his way through the crowd and strode toward the wisp looking over the tranquil sea. Catching her arm, Londo came face-to-face with Cassiella.

"Pa'tazio!" she cried, a smile instantly written on her face.

"Cassiella," he beamed. "I thought I saw you in a crowd of Narn the other day, but . . . perhaps I was mistaken."

Cassiella flashed an enigmatic smile at Londo. "You never know where you might find a Xon."

"Well," he returned her smile, "It is good to see you _here._ About those history books we talked about - I have not forgotten."

Cassiella bowed. "I did not think you would, Pa'tazio."

Londo pointed a finger at her, "I believe I have set some things in motion to shed some light on that part of our history with more _clarity_ than we have had until now."

"I am glad to hear it, Pa'tazio," Cassiella nodded once.

"And, Cassiella," he added, "I want you to know that in my new assignment, I will attempt to negotiate for representatives of the past races to serve the Great Council as well. Of course, this is primarily because a place as wondrous as Centauri Prime should have _two_ votes on the Great Council, not for any other reason."

Cassiella almost called Londo's bluff because she instinctively knew that his thoughts stemmed from a deeper commitment than merely another vote on the Council, but she restrained herself. "Of course, Pa'tazio, of course."

"Perhaps," Londo shook his finger at her, "when it is time for you to move on to another place, perhaps such a calling would suit you."

Cassiella's eyes danced. "Perhaps. But perhaps not. It is a decision beyond both of us."

"Yes," Londo agreed in a lighthearted tone, "but diplomatic endeavors are my specialty. So . . . " he spread his hands, "Perhaps we should place a bet on whether I shall see you seated there one day?"

"No bets," Cassiella laughed. "Not with you. I've learned my lesson."

Londo clapped her gently on the back, "I will be seeing you then."

"Go well, Pa'tazio," Cassiella bowed deeply.

"Stay well, Cassiella," Londo bid her goodbye and headed for G'Kar's location on the other side of the square.

* * *

After Londo returned to the Rim, the Empress Dowager made a promise to herself that she would awaken early each morning and watch the sun rise over the palace. She had never been a romantic, and she had never seen the practicality of people staring off into the atmosphere's changing colors, but something in her changed after the events following Londo's death. Although she did not know for certain, she suspected that her time in this world had been meant to end in her deathbed off world the day Londo had passed beyond, so the renewed sense of life she had been granted inspired her to embrace each moment. She surmised that wherever the Rim was, Londo was somewhere beyond the twilight and the stars that faded in the sunlight. So every day, she awoke early to see the cascade of colors dawning on Centauri Prime, and she cherished each rainbow inspired masterpiece that was created and swept away by an unseen hand every morning. And when Londo periodically returned from the Rim, surprising her with his booming and unmistakable voice, she would pull him to the veranda so they could enjoy the sunrise together, one of the few times he would fall into contemplative silence while wrapping her in his arms. There, in the masterpiece of the mornings, Timov found appreciation for the romanticism that had been missing her whole life, and the sunsets never ceased to remind her of what she had both lost and found.

After many years had passed, and the aged Empress Dowager watched her last sunrise, Cassiella retrieved Lady Timov when her consciousness faded from the Centauri Prime and awoke in the Land of the Fog. Cassiella could sense quiet determination and fierceness pulsing through Timov. And, not surprisingly, when Timov awoke, she did not hesitate before picking herself up, brushing the grass from herself, and straightening her gown.

"This is a rather dreary place," she remarked. "It could certainly do with a little sunshine." Tuning to Cassiella, Timov looked over her guide with chagrin, waiting for the woman to introduce herself.

The Guardian bowed to her charge, "Welcome, Pa'tazia, I was sent for you."

Timov harrumphed. "By Londo, I suppose. He thinks he's lord of the universe."

Cassiella smiled amusedly and cast her eyes downward. "That is not exactly how it works, Pa'tazia," she replied.

Disregarding the reply, Timov gestured toward Cassiella. "Come along. I have much to do," Timov marched off toward their destination without any direction from Cassiella, and Cassiella was resigned to follow the Empress who, apparently, had already determined exactly where she was bound to go.

* * *

As they waited in the square for directions concerning their first meeting at the Great Council, Londo poked G'Kar with a finger. "So here we are again."

"Yes," G'Kar said, a mock look of weariness painted on his face.

"There is an earth saying about hell, I am trying to remember," Londo rubbed his chin in thought.

"You would know. You seem to have made Earth trivia something of a personal pastime," G'Kar replied, taking in the view of the sea while they waited.

"Ah, that is right. You are only an expert in earth _women_ ," Londo prodded him. "Those poor women probably had no idea what they were getting into."

"I cannot help it if earth women are magnetically drawn to me," G'Kar said without a hint of being insincere. "Perhaps it is the allure of my animal prowess in bed."

"Spare me," Londo rolled his eyes. "Anyway, let me see – oh yes, I think the phrase is, 'Hell is other people.' So, you see, I have deduced that I am, in fact, in hell. I lost that judgment after all."

G'Kar shook his head. "I thought the phrase was 'hell is of your own making.' So . . . " G'Kar gestured toward the colosseum. "There you go. You did it."

Londo protested, "I saved your life in there!"

"Only after I saved _your_ life," G'Kar responded with mirth.

Londo's face fell into disapproval. "I do not want to get into this."

"Good," G'Kar said, clasping his hands behind his back.

Seeing a figure in the distance waiving to them, G'Kar and Mollari strolled up the knoll behind the colosseum toward the figure. As they walked, they took in the sights and sounds of the busy Crossroads as they, themselves, embarked on the new adventure laying before them. But this time, each man would represent the interests of all the sentient beings confined to the Universe they called home, rather than championing their specific race as they had on Babylon 5. In naming them to the Counsel, the Universe had expressed great confidence in their ability to serve in these new roles admirably.

Just before they reached the figure on the knoll, Mollari turned toward G'Kar, a sudden intensity in his eyes, "They say you can live many lifetimes in the moment of death. What if . . . what if all of this since our moment of death – what if we are only dreaming?"

G'Kar grasped his forearm with emotion, "Then let us dream."

– Fin –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about the sunrise is actually from Jerry Doyle, who would rise and watch every sunrise after a close encounter with death. I reproduce a similar version here in a mini-tribute to him.


End file.
